


stories told to me and stories told to you

by megxmas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Derek, Canon Era, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slash, Stiles makes decisions that maybe he shouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megxmas/pseuds/megxmas
Summary: Derek goes missing, and Stiles loses his mind trying to find him.Across state, a man with no memory saves a town's children, and can only say one word. They start to call him 'Styles'.Somehow, they find each other.





	stories told to me and stories told to you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/130952) by [merrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrin/pseuds/merrin). 



> One of my fav fics of all time is [What Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/130952) by [merrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrin/pseuds/merrin), which just so happens to be the only Wincest fic I've ever liked. It's so so so so so good, and the wonderful author [(urrone)](http://urrone.tumblr.com/) was lovely enough to let me write a Sterek version. Which is this. Hers is so much better. If Wincest is at all your thing, go check it out and send her some love! (this version obviously has zero incest)
> 
> I'd also like to thank [phandooms](http://phandooms.tumblr.com/) and [Franca](http://5-cuties-who-stole-my-heart.tumblr.com/) for looking over it for me and making sure it made sense! (this story may get edited more as they come back to me with more notes). They are wonderful and lovely and I'm very grateful for their help!
> 
> This was one of those stories that was written in three big chunks with about three months in between each chunk (I wrote some of this on holiday in Italy! Isn't that fun!) so there's every chance there are some continuity errors in there - if you find any, let me know pretty please!
> 
> I know nothing of Californian geography, and I couldn't be bothered to figure it out. Everything's made up.
> 
> This story has only ever been called 'Derek goes missing on a Tuesday 1 (Autosaved)' on my computer, but this title is from Bastille's 'Glory'.

Derek goes missing on a Tuesday. At least, Stiles _thinks_ he does. He’s not entirely sure, because it isn’t until the Friday that he realises. The last anyone had heard from Derek was 11:13am on the Tuesday (a text, reading, _I’ll handle it,_ sent to Stiles) so Stiles says it was the Tuesday.

He uses his spare key to get into Derek’s apartment, and finds off-milk in the refrigerator and mouldy bread on the counter, so Stiles figures Tuesday is a good estimation. He gets into the centuries old laptop that’s sitting on the kitchen table (password: password1234, _really,_ Derek?) and finds some articles on something called ‘Lamia’. He flicks through them quickly; she was some Ancient Greek lady who ate children as revenge for something, but he can’t really think what she would have to do with anything. He leaves them there for reference, opens up the phone tracking software they all have installed for very sensible reasons, and punches in Derek’s number.

It’s not worth calling Scott back from New York for just yet. Derek goes walkabout semi-occasionally, although not often without leaving a note at his place, because he knows Stiles is the world’s best worrier. There aren’t any notes this time, and Derek’s phone, backup phone, _and_ emergency phone are all ringing through.

The software shows that Derek was last seen at a gas station 30 miles out of Beacon Hills on Tuesday night, and isn’t _that_ strange. The nearest town is Beacon Hills, and Stiles has literally no idea where Derek could have ended up after that. He calls up the number of the gas station and asks the guy who answers if there were any mysterious, hairy men who arrived, and if he knew where he might have gone, but the man on the other end of the call is either really dumb or couldn’t care less, because he just grunts non-committedly before hanging up.

Stiles takes a breath and loads up Derek’s browser history, and, yep, nothing on there since Tuesday morning. There are some news articles about missing children in Orange County, more stuff about the Lamia, and, thankfully, no porn. Stiles likes living in a world where Derek spends all his time fantasizing about Stiles, and finding out what he was actually into would completely throw off his delusions.

Although, when he goes back a few weeks, he does find a search for ‘guy on guy’, presumably before Derek remembered himself and switched to Incognito. _That_ doesn’t ruin things for Stiles, at least.

He shoots off the hundredth text to Derek: ‘ _where are you?? AGAIN??_ ’, before calling up his dad and registering Derek as missing.

-

Sergeant Williams is the first to visit John Doe in the hospital, after the doctors phone him to say he’s woken up. Busted leg, broken ribs, collapsed lung, dislocated shoulder, countless cuts and bruises. He’s stable, but apparently only physically.

Dr Parker speaks to him outside the room, says, “He has no memory whatsoever. When he woke up, all he would say for about an hour was ‘style’ or ‘styles’, completely confused and disoriented. We started calling him that, it seemed to calm him down.”

Williams looks at her incredulously. “So his name is ‘Style’?”

She shrugs. “Nickname, maybe. It’s the only thing that seems to get through to him. Although, ‘Styles’ works better for him.”

“Okay. So he has no memory. Does he remember what he did?”

Dr Parker shakes her head. “Nope. And I’m not sure he’d take too kindly to finding out how many people he killed.”

Williams nods. “Right.”

“Does the state have any intention to prosecute him? It doesn’t seem fair, after all he did.”

“The state doesn’t know what happened. And I have a hundred grateful parents who would be pretty pissed at me if the guy who saved their kids went to prison for saving them.”

Dr Parker nods. “There’s another thing. It seems he is also, well. A werewolf.”

Williams sighs. “Rachel, I know he must have some body hair, but-“

“No, Williams. He’s a werewolf. I’ve only treated a couple of them before, but he’s definitely one. It’s why he’s healed so well already.”

Williams shakes his head. “I don’t understand?”

“Just trust me. I don’t know how well he’ll respond to the news right now but, well, if you’re going to be protecting him, you’re going to need to be aware.”

“Right. That’s insane. You know that, right?”

“I was just as confused as you are, but let’s just say that unless you start thinking about it now, you’re going to regret it come the full moon.”

“Okay. Let’s pretend I go along with this. What do I do?”

Dr Parker shrugs. “The other werewolves knew enough to tell me what to do. Internet, I guess?”

Williams sighs. “Okay, thanks.”

-

Stiles calls all the major hospitals in Orange County, asks them if they’ve had a Derek Hale admitted, and they all say no. He calls the smaller ones too, then some of the police departments to ask if he’s been arrested. In the end, he settles for describing Derek to anyone who’ll listen, and he feels hoarse by the end of the weekend, throat numb and grating. No one’s seen Derek. He trawls through the internet, drives his dad crazy asking him to check arrest records.

He goes back to work on Monday, sleep deprived and sad.

-

Williams puts Derek’s name into the search bar just as soon as he drops the phone down. The voice, some officer from some town not far off, had described Styles exactly, so he types in ‘Derek Hale’, and there Styles is, brooding and angry, arrest record busy on the screen.

The guy hadn’t said exactly why he was looking for Derek, just that he was missing, but Williams feels already so protective of the man who saved the town’s children. He can’t bring himself to do anything that would potentially get Styles – Derek – arrested.

Derek’s already pretty much fully healed (werewolves, _jeez_ ), some of the parents clubbed together and got him an apartment near the station, and virtually everyone’s already said that he’ll be looked after for as long as he’s there. Williams looks back at the computer screen, a timeline of sadness and no next of kin. Carthage can look after him.

Derek thinks his name is Styles, and Williams doesn’t know if it would help to tell him otherwise right now. He’s got no idea what happened to him, has been told in vague terms that he got busted up, lost his memory, and is being looked after until they can figure out who he really is, or until someone comes looking for him.

You don’t go telling a guy with brain damage he has absolutely no family, was once arrested (wrongfully) for murdering his own sister, and has been implicated in dozens of crimes since the age of fifteen.

Williams drops his head into his hands. He thinks about the Derek that he’s been speaking to at the hospital, who looks up at him like he’s a lost teenager, scared and desperate to go home. He’s quiet, but quick, and he may not be totally aware that he’s a werewolf, but Williams can see how he reacts to everything so quickly, how keenly he hears things. He’s even made a couple of jokes, barely, and Williams isn’t sure, but he thinks Derek might not be the terrible person his arrest record makes him out to be.

He thinks of Polly Prescott’s eyes as she tugged at his jacket just a few days ago, asking if the funny man with the funny teeth was going to be okay. And then Aaron Prescott’s hushed but determined, “I’ve spoken to the others, we all agree. We’ll protect him, whatever he’s done.”

Yeah. Carthage can look after him.

-

“Could you check again?” Stiles whines.

His dad rolls his eyes. “I checked literally an hour ago. There won’t be any new information.”

“You don’t know that.”

His dad sighs, but picks up the phone. “Hey, Ashton? Any news on Hale? Uh-huh. Sure. Thanks again.” He drops the receiver. “Sorry, kiddo.”

Stiles slumps into the chair. “Where is he? People don’t just disappear like this!”

The Sheriff smiles sadly. “I’m afraid they do. All too frequently.” He leans forward, hands clasped on the desk, more serious. “Stiles, have you thought that, maybe, Derek doesn’t want to be found?”

Stiles looks incredulous. “What? Of course not! Why would you say that?”

“Beacon Hills has a lot of bad memories for him. I can understand why he’d want to leave.”

Stiles crosses his arms. “He wouldn’t just leave like that if he wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t leave his computer behind or milk in the fridge. He’d say goodbye.”

The Sheriff looks sad. “Maybe you should start preparing yourself for bad news. It’s been nearly three weeks.”

Stiles shakes his head immediately. “No, I can go out this weekend and –“

“And what?” the Sheriff cuts him off. “You don’t know where he is, where he was intending to go. His phones have all died and we’ve had no hits on his number plate. I don’t know how much you think there is to do.”

“Scott’s coming back on Monday. He’ll be able to do something.”

“Like what? Scent track Derek across state?”

Stiles shifts. “Maybe. The others have all set up watches in their towns, and Lydia has a track on all things Derek online.”

“Stiles. I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror recently, but you look like hell. How much did you sleep last night?”

Stiles at least looks sheepish. “Not…a huge amount.”

“Stiles.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine. Two hours at my desk.” At the Sheriff’s bewildered expression, he says, “What?”

“Do you think killing yourself through sleep deprivation is going to get Derek back? Let the professionals deal with this, Stiles. Sleep.”

Stiles snorts. “No offense, dad, but the ‘professionals’ don’t seem to care all that much about finding Derek.” ‘Professionals’ comes with air quotes and all.

The Sheriff sighs. “We’re not really allowed to dedicate all of our resources to finding a grown man when there’s been no signs of foul play. There’s not a whole lot we can do. But-“ he says to Stiles’ open mouth. “We can do a hell of a lot more than you can. Especially when you haven’t slept. Take this weekend for yourself. Rethink your strategy when Scott arrives.”

Stiles sighs. He looks defeated, broken. His next words are quiet, almost silent. “He’s. He can’t be gone.”

“He might not be. But Stiles, you’re in no state to find him right now. Don’t work yourself into a lather.”

Stiles nods, shallowly. “Just. Please don’t give up on him.”

The Sheriff snorts. “Come on, kid. When would you ever let me?”

-

Williams knocks twice on Derek’s door. It’s opened a few moments later by Derek, dressed in just sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. “Hey, Williams,” Derek says, stepping aside to let him through.

“Hey Styles,” Williams says, hearing the door close behind him. “Remember anything today?”

“Not a thing,” Derek says, following Williams through to the kitchen.

They both take seats at the table there, Derek idly picking through some dry cereal in a bowl.

“How are you settling in?”

Derek shrugs. “I slept okay last night, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s good.”

Derek nods. “Can I get you anything to drink or eat?”

Williams shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks, this is just a flying visit.”

Derek’s silent for a few moments, and Williams waits patiently for what he knows he’s going to say. “I feel tremendously guilty for this,” he gestures around him. “I don’t feel right about taking this for nothing.”

Williams smiles. “We’re a small town. We like to look after people.”

Derek grumbles, looks down at his cereal. He picks up a piece and crumbles it between his fingers. “I don’t deserve it,” he says, watching the crumbs fall into the bowl.

Williams sighs. “Then think of the kids. They found you, they want to keep you safe as much as their parents do.”

Derek rubs at his face. “Maybe this is one of those things I’m never going to understand.”

Williams smiles again. “Don’t worry, kid. I understand less than 6% of the stuff that happens around me. You’re not alone in this.”

Derek gives a small smile.

“Also,” Williams shifts in his chair. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Dr Parker told me that. Well. You’re a werewolf. So there’s that too.”

Derek doesn’t immediately jump back or scream or tell Williams to fuck off, so that’s something. Derek looks down at his cereal again. “I kinda. I knew that, somehow.”

Williams nods, relieved, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out some articles he’d found online. “Phew. That was way easier than I thought it would be.” Derek smiles. “Do you think you’ll be okay on full moon? I got a cell I can chain you up in if not.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, thank you. I think that’s instinctive for me. I don’t think it’s linked to my memory.”

“Like peeing in a toilet.”

Derek laughs, smiles. “Yeah. Like peeing in a toilet.”

As Derek’s seeing Williams out, he puts a hand on his elbow, and says with big, scared eyes, “Oh, Williams? Did anyone come looking for me yet?”

Williams thinks of the officer calling from Beacon Hills, thinks about Derek maybe ending up in prison for something he doesn’t remember doing that he did for good reasons.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, Styles. But I’ll keep you updated.”

Derek looks sad. Williams tries to remind himself that it’s for the best.

-

Scott arrives and finds Stiles asleep on the kitchen floor. He shakes him awake, gently, with a soft, “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles is bleary-eyed and exhausted when he blinks his eyes open. “Hey Scottie,” he says, letting himself be pulled up.

Scott looks at him sadly. “I’m guessing you’ve had no luck finding him?”

“Not since you phoned six hours ago, no.”

“Did you even make it into work today?” Scott asks, seeing the toast and coffee still on the table.

Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “Uh. Guess not.”

“This isn’t good for you man. Have you lost weight?”

Stiles scoffs. “It’s like listening to my dad again.”

Scott looks indignant. “Well he’s got a point! You’re seriously not gonna be any good to Derek if you’re a sleep-deprived mess!”

Stiles turns to leave the kitchen, picks up a cold piece of toast and shoves it into his mouth, angrily. “Seriously, you’ve become the same person,” he says, mouth full and food spraying across the room.

All of a sudden, Stiles feels strong hands gripping his shoulders and steering him towards his bedroom. "Go to bed,” Scott says from behind him. “I’ll go to his apartment and see what I can pick up. But you’re staying here and sleeping, okay?”

Stiles wants to protest, wants to make Scott take him with him, but he feels his lids drooping just at the sight of his bed. “Report back right away,” he says as Scott pushes him onto his bed. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

-

Derek’s eating in the diner when Williams walks in, picking at bacon and eggs, sat across from an over-excited Andy Philips, who’s chattering happily about something or other. Williams has spoken to enough kids to know that they’re boring as shit, but Derek’s looking at Andy like he’s genuinely interested in what he has to say. He nods along as he speaks, raises his eyebrows at all the right moments, and hmms and aaahs when appropriate.

While Williams is ordering his coffee, Andy’s mom ushers him away, raises a grateful hand to Derek by means of goodbye, and Williams takes Andy’s place once he’s got his cup in hand.

“Hey Styles, remember anything new today?”

Derek smiles. “This is the first time you’re gonna be happy with me. I actually do.”

Williams must betray his surprise, because in nearly a month of asking, the answers always been ‘no’.

Derek chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. It was just that I used to use sensitive toothpaste.”

Williams nearly spits his coffee out laughing.

-

Scott, of course, finds nothing. It’s probably been too long since Derek’s been at his apartment, and there’s nothing in the immediate area that would give him any clues as to where Derek went, or even in which direction.

They curl up on the couch, the TV playing distantly, neither of them paying much attention. Stiles sends off some more texts to all three of Derek’s numbers, even though he knows they’re going to come back as undelivered.

_I’m so worried, dude_

_It shouldn’t be possible for someone as hairy as you to just disappear without a trace_

_Scott doesn’t heat up ramen noodles as well as you do_

_I’m gonna give you hell when you come back after a month long bender_

_I miss you, dumbass._

-

After a couple of months, Williams stops worrying about people coming to look for Derek. No one does, after that one and only phone call a week or so after he’d arrived.

He settles in well, Derek. People genuinely like him, not just because of what he’s done, but because he’s funny, quick, intelligent. He gets on well with the kids, who look up at him with adoring eyes, and Derek stares back, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with being adored.

Williams and Derek become friends, easily. What had started off as casual visits to check up on him, asking what he remembers, if he’s managed to tear anything apart with his werewolfy fangs (Williams has seen them, they’re _insane_ ) becomes actual friendship.

Derek remembers bits and pieces, here and there, nothing consequential. Things Derek likes and doesn’t, random places he’s seen, the inside of a grocery store, some museum with some statues. He doesn’t remember people, his family, or his alleged crimes. Williams takes it as a positive that he’s still so happy.

For the most part, Derek spends his time around his apartment, working out, going to the diner, chatting to the kids, or spending time with Rachel, or Williams, playing poker or watching sports. A lot of the parents take it in turn to go shopping with Derek, make sure his things are all paid for. Williams knows Derek doesn’t like it, can see how itchy his skin gets when they’re at the checkouts and Derek’s watching someone else’s card slip into the reader.

“I just don’t understand why people do this. I feel so useless. And guilty. I’m not an invalid. I can do things,” he says to Williams one evening, when they’re sprawled on the couch, beers in hand.

Williams shrugs. “We like looking after people.”

Derek sighs. “Yeah. So you keep saying. But I can look after myself.”

Williams thinks about telling Derek what he did, saving those kids. “Just enjoy it, you know, until you remember something bigger.”

Derek clears his throat. “Sure. Whatever.” He takes a breath. “Anyone come looking for me this week?”

Williams feels his stomach clench. He wishes Derek would stop worrying, just a little. Because nobody non-police related has come looking for him, and Williams knows he has no family left. “Sorry, Styles. But you have a home now, here. For as long as you want.”

Derek gives him a tight smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

-

By month three, the Sheriff sits Stiles down and tells him he needs to move on. “It’s not good for you, Stiles. No one’s heard from Derek in three months. I’m worried this is going to end up really hurting you.”

Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair. “I feel like I would know if something had happened. I think he’s still out there.”

The Sheriff shakes his head. “Stiles.”

“No, dad, it’s okay. I’m not dedicating my life to finding him or anything. Just internet searches and stuff.”

“That keep you up all night.”

“I’m dedicated to my art.”

He sighs. “Stiles. You’ve spent the whole of the summer vacation in your apartment. You’ve hardly spoken to anyone outside of me or the school. You look like you haven’t slept through in weeks and, I’m sorry, kid, but you look like shit.”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t. I don’t want to give up on him.”

The Sheriff claps a hand onto his shoulder, rubs a thumb over his thin collar bone. “No one could ever accuse you of that. He was one of your best friends. Do you not think he’d want you to move on?”

Stiles’ eyes lock onto his fathers for a few moments, swimming and bright, defiant. But a moment later, he drops his head down, into his hands. He mumbles into his palms, and the Sheriff can just make out the indistinct, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

-

Derek gets restless in his apartment, wants to go out and be productive, prove himself. No matter how many times Williams says that the people want him and will look after him regardless, he still insists, still pushes. “Come on, Wills, I’m not completely useless. Let me do something. I wouldn’t even need to be paid. Just let me do something.”

Williams looks at him, palms wide and eyes pleading. “What can you do?” he asks, eventually.

Derek looks defiant. “I can fix things. Cars.”

Williams snorts. “How d’you know that, Styles?”

Derek shrugs. “It’s like the werewolf thing. I just know.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll take you down to Mack’s Motors, maybe he can give you something.”

Derek’s smile is earnest and wide, and definitely worth it.

-

About a month later, Stiles drives out to the Hale house, digs a hole, and plants a baby spruce tree. Isaac and Lydia are beside him, managed to take time off work to fly down. Lydia slips a hand into his as they stand back and watch the wind sing through the short branches.

It’s soppy as hell, planting a tree, but the Sheriff had said that it was more for Stiles than Derek. “You need closure,” he’d said.

Stiles doesn’t really want closure, if he’s honest. He wants his best friend back. But no one else seems to think it’s ever going to happen, so. So this is what Stiles decides on.

-

Mack’s really impressed with Derek’s car-fixing skills, hires him on the spot for a pretty competitive wage, and Williams wonders if he ever used to be a mechanic. Derek starts right away, and he loves making himself useful after months of feeling pointless. When Williams goes to see him at the end of his shift for the next few days, he’s practically overflowing with energy. He talks Williams through all of the cars he fixed, all of the customers he spoke to. He’s not rambling, not like an excitable child. Somehow, Williams doesn’t think that’s in his nature. He’s sombre when he speaks, but alive.

“It took about an hour, but we managed to bring it back.”

Williams snorts. “I don’t know how you remember how to fix cars when you don’t even remember your own name.”

“I remember it _now,_ ” he throws back, taking a pull from his beer.

“Do you actually, though?”

Derek shrugs. “Styles just feels right. When people say it to me, you know? Even if it is really fucking weird.”

Williams nods, takes a sip, and wonders, absent mindedly, if there actually is a Styles out there somewhere.

-

On Christmas Eve, when Derek’s been gone for six months, and Stiles can sleep for about three hours straight without having to wake up and google Derek’s name, he drives out and sits by Derek’s tree. It never, ever, leads to anything, but it makes him feel better. He keeps up the pretence that he’s given up, but he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try to find out what happened to him.

“Happy Birthday Derek. For tomorrow. I know you never like anything big, but. You know.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know what the point would be.

-

“Hey Styles, remember anything today?” Williams asks as he pushes into Derek’s apartment.

Derek shakes his head. The memories have pretty much stopped for the time being, and while, obviously, Williams wants Derek to be fully healed again, he’s also grateful that he won’t have to deal with the fallout from his memories coming back. It’s selfish, sure. But what can you do?

“Do you want a drink?” Derek asks.

“No, thanks, I just came round to ask if you wanted to come to poker tomorrow night.”

Derek nods. “Sure. Rachel going to be there?”

Williams is quiet for a moment. Derek’s never shown any interest in the women about the town. He always looks through them, somehow, pays attention to them, but never with anything more than politeness. (Williams did keep an eye out for any men that might have taken Derek’s interest. But no such luck there, either.) But it’s possible, he supposes, that he’s interested in Rachel. They are good friends.

“I’ve asked her, so probably.”

Derek smiles at that, and says, “So you’re finally going to make your move?” It’s teasing, and Williams breathes out.

“Am I that obvious?”

Derek laughs. “You’re about as subtle as a punch in the face.”

Williams shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly embarrassed. “Do you think she’s interested?”

Derek snorts, and Williams flits his eyes to him. “Yeah,” Derek says, simple as that. “Yeah I do.”

Simple as that.

-

The Sheriff is eyeing Stiles carefully from across his desk, mouth twisted like he’s got no idea whether he should say what he wants to or not.

Stiles crosses his arms across his chest. “You got anything to say to me Pops? Or did you just want to look at me for a bit?”

He shifts in his seat. “You haven’t really been getting better,” is all he says, and Stiles sighs, has heard this way too many times to care anymore.

“Thanks dad,” is all Stiles can really say in reply.

The Sheriff shakes his head. “It’s not like that. I thought you would be. I _hoped_ you would be. It’s been a _year._ And I don’t want to make you worse than you are already.”

Stiles’ brow burrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

The Sheriff sighs, pulling a piece of paper out of a folder. “A hit came up on Derek’s licence plate. His car’s been scrapped for parts, but the front ended up in a scrapyard not too far from here. They ran the plate, so it came through to me.”

He hands the paper to Stiles, a picture of what is undeniably the front of the Camaro, licence plate and all. Stiles gapes at it.

“I don’t know what exactly this means,” the Sheriff continues, cautiously. “But I think you deserve to know that the pieces seem to be being sold by a garage in a town called Carthage, about seventy miles out from here.” He sighs. “They might be able to tell you what happened to Derek, is all I’m saying.”

Stiles doesn’t really know what to say, his breath caught in his lungs, tight and cold. It’s the first Stiles has heard about Derek in twelve months, and he feels almost dizzy with the idea of finding out what happened.

“Just don’t,” the Sheriff starts. “Don’t get too caught up. If it turns out he doesn’t want to be found, don’t go looking. Respect his decision.”

Stiles nods dumbly, stands up from the chair, is already planning his weekend.

-

Derek’s really good at poker. After he sweeps the floor with Williams and Rachel for the seventh time, Williams cries out, “Jeez, man, is this a werewolf thing? Can you tell when people are bluffing or something?”

Derek snorts as he collects the chips. “God, how would that even work? Can you imagine, a werewolf lie detector? I feel like the world would have ended by now if that were even possible.”

Rachel, who doesn’t care about poker as much as Williams, takes a sip from her drink, hums thoughtfully, and says, “So what can you do, then?”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together as he thinks. “I’m strong. And fast. And can grow fangs when I want. I don’t know, I haven’t really tested it.”

She makes a small sound, then says, “Oh, I’ve just thought! Wolves are pack animals, aren’t they? Are you going to need a pack at some point?”

It makes Williams wonder if he had a pack before the incident, and then, the more he thinks, the more sure he is that he didn’t. He doesn’t know much about werewolves, but he’s confident they would have been able to track him down by now if they could have.

Derek, for his part, shrugs. “Maybe? I’ve been doing okay without, so far. I quite like the idea of one, though. I’m guessing I didn’t, before. Or they would have come for me by now.”

Williams tries not to meet Derek’s eyes.

-

Stiles has got his best, what he calls ‘grown up’, suit on as he makes his way to Carthage. He’s trying not to get his hopes up. He’s really trying.

He’s not sure where’s best to go, if it would be better to go directly to the auto-shop or start off somewhere more subtle. He’s probably overthinking it.

But the first recognisable building he sees on his way into town is the police station, so he pulls a left, turns in, and gets ready for a fight. He’s here for answers. He’s going to get them.

-

Rodriguez pushes her head round Williams’ door, and says, “Sir, there’s someone here to see you.”

Williams looks at his watch, tries to think back if he’d made any appointments that week. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t, and there’s no major case that he’s working on, nothing that more junior officers couldn’t handle.

Rodriguez must sense his hesitation, because she says, “It’s about Styles. Someone’s come who says that his name is Stiles, and he’s looking for his missing friend Derek.”

Williams isn’t sure what to make of that. Instinctively, he wants to tell her to send the visitor away, to keep safe Derek and the life he’s built in Carthage. But then.

“Send him in,” is what he ends up saying.

The man that walks in is clearly trying to act grown up, walking tall, ironed shirt. But there’s something in his face, such vulnerability in those hollowed cheeks and eyes that haven’t been rested.

He extends his hand to Williams, and says, “I’m Stiles Stilinski, I phoned you about a year ago about my missing friend? Derek Hale?”

Rising to grip Stiles’ hand, he replies, “Sergeant Williams. And I seem to remember something from a Detective Stilinski, yes.”

Stiles shifts from foot to foot. “Yeah, my father,” he offers, as if that’s an answer to anything.

“Please sit,” Williams counter-offers, and then, “What can I help you with?”

“Parts from my friend’s car have been sold to several scrapyards, and they all came from Carthage. I was wondering if you might be able to help me with that?” He takes a breath. “I’m not expecting him to come back. I’m just, I’m just trying to find some peace. If you know what happened to him, or something.”

And Williams feels guilty as hell all of a sudden. Because Derek’s become one of his best friends over the last year, but here Stiles is, _the_ Stiles, the one that Derek must be so close to that his name feels like a part of him, withdrawn, small, looking like the sky’s about to fall in.

While Williams is hesitating in his guilt, Stiles clears his throat, and says, “Did he. Did he die?” His voice is breaking, eyes impossibly sad.

Williams shakes his head. “He’s here. He’s fine. He has amnesia.”

Williams can almost pinpoint the exact moment Stiles stops breathing, the moment his heart stops, the room suddenly deathly quiet.

“What?” Stiles asks, although it’s more a statement than a question.

“There was an incident about a year and a half back, some creature was taking the children of the town, doing who knows what to them. Derek came and killed the thing, got the kids back, but lost all his memories in the process. After your call, we found out who he was, but saw all these possible convictions, and I know he killed people saving those kids. You said you were a cop, we were worried you’d arrest him. And everyone here is so grateful, we decided to just…take him in, I guess.” He rubs at his eyes. “We saw that he didn’t have family, and no-one came looking. We thought he was a lone wolf.” He chuckles, barely. “I guess you know that he’s…y’know.”

Stiles nods, still dumbfounded. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I. Can I see him?”

Williams nods in reply. “Of course. Although, you should know that when we found him, he could only repeat one word over and over again, so we started calling him it. After we found out his real name, it felt counter-intuitive to start calling him something else.”

Stiles looks confused for a moment. “Oh, okay then. What do you call him?”

Williams gives him an apologetic smile. “Styles.”

-

Stiles follows the sergeant like a zombie all the way to the garage, heavy tread and blank eyes, one thought echoing round his head, ‘not dead, Derek’s not dead. He’s safe and not dead and _not dead._ ’

The relief he feels when he steps into the garage and sees the familiar back bent over an engine is beyond what he thought it would be. It’s like visiting his dad in the hospital, scared and unsure, but somehow different.

“Hey, Styles,” Williams calls out fondly, and Derek straightens, turning to face them both. His hair is longer, barely, face still scruffy and unshaven. He looks different, still, and it takes a moment for Stiles to realise why. He’s lighter, eyes shining and skin clear, no bags under his eyes. He’s standing tall and he actually smiles as he speaks.

“Hi Wills,” Derek says, stepping towards them. “What brings you out here?” He glances at Stiles. “Who’s your friend?”

Williams kinda just looks at Stiles, so he steps forward, clearing his throat. “I’m, um, Alex. Alex Richards.” Derek takes his outstretched hand, and the small shake they share is enough to make Stiles’ heart skip.

“I’m Styles,” he says. He looks for a moment like he’s waiting for either Stiles or Williams to elaborate, but when they don’t, he continues, “So, what brings you two out?”

Williams clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m having a poker night at mine this Saturday, you in?”

Derek’s already nodding. “Sounds good. Seven?”

Williams smiles. “You betcha.”

-

Williams is confused when they leave the garage, but he manages to walk for a few minutes before speaking to Stiles. Werewolf hearing, or so he’s been told.

“Why didn’t you tell him who you are?” he asks, pulling Stiles to a stop at a bench outside JJ’s Diner.

Stiles looks sad, for a moment, before sitting on the bench and looking up at Williams. “He’s so happy. He looks not, worried.” He leans his elbows on his knees. “Like, for as long as I’ve known him he’s walked around like he’s got the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. But today? I’ve never seen him like that. I want him to stay like that.”

“So you’re just not going to tell him? Do you not think he has a right to know? Or that he’d want to see you again, to remember you?”

Stiles shakes his head. “People. People tend to be better off without me. I don’t know. I need to think about it, I guess.”

Williams knows what pointless self-sacrifice looks like. He’d seen how ruined Stiles had looked when he thought Derek had died, had seen the way Stiles looked at Derek when he’d met him in the garage. “You should stay, for a while. If you can. Make sure he’s really okay. I can see how much he means to you.”

Stiles looks like he’s about to say no, but then he glances back down the road, in the direction of Mack’s Motors, and his shoulders slump. “Okay. To make sure he’s settled, and stuff.”

-

“I’m sorry, what exactly happened?”

Stiles turns back to his dad, still throwing clothes into his suitcase. “Derek’s alive, with amnesia, in Carthage, and the police department are protecting him cos they thought he was some kind of serial criminal, and because he saved all their kids.”

The Sheriff looks as confused as he must feel. “What? What the hell kind of police department is this?”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. “Right?”

“And now you’re what, exactly?”

“I’m going to stay there for a couple of weeks, make sure Derek’s settled in okay.”

John stills Stiles with a hand to his wrist. “Why didn’t you just tell him the truth? Bring him home?”

Stiles’ heart flips a little at the word ‘home’, and he’s glad there aren’t any werewolves round to hear it. He would love nothing more than to make Derek remember everything, to bring him back to Beacon Hills and get one of his best friends back. But Beacon Hills had always meant nothing but misery for Derek, and this was like the perfect chance at a fresh start. No ties, no horrible memories of past trauma. Bringing him back would be selfish, and Stiles knows Derek deserves better.

“Imagine you’re living a great life. You’ve saved the whole town’s kids, everyone loves you, you have a great job and an apartment and friends, and you’re not worried about everything. And then some guy comes along and tells you that your life is a lie, that in your real life, your whole family is dead, you’ve killed numerous people, and you live alone and only see people maybe once a week. I don’t wanna take everything away from him.”

John sighs. “He already knows the life he’s living isn’t real, Stiles, he knows he has amnesia. What he’s probably doing is hoping and praying that he meant enough to someone that they’re trying to find him.”

Stiles shakes his head. “He’s happy, dad. Like, properly happy. I haven’t see him that carefree in, well. Ever.”

John pulls Stiles into an embrace. “I don’t think this is a good idea for either of you. But I know you don’t listen to me on good days, so. Just. Please don’t get any more hurt.”

-

Derek is the first to arrive at Williams’ for poker, six pack of beer and bag of Dorito’s in hand. They embrace, briefly, and then Derek joins Williams in the kitchen, helps him get the snacks ready.

“What was up with that friend of yours?” Derek asks, almost immediately.

“Alex? Err, he’s the son of one of my friends, from a couple of towns over.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, I mean what was up with him? He kept staring at me. Did you tell him about the thing?”

Williams shrugs. “His dad may have told him about it. We didn’t really talk about it.”

Derek puts an olive in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “He’s not going to be here tonight is he?”

“He’s invited. Didn’t say for sure whether he’ll be here.” Which is a lie, but Williams knows that’s not something Derek can detect.

As if on the cue, the doorbell rings.

“Would you mind getting that, Styles?” he asks. Derek nods and leaves the kitchen, throwing a “Don’t eat any of the Dorito’s” over his shoulder.

-

Stiles wasn’t really expecting Derek to open the door. It makes his heart ache. He stares for a moment, just a moment, before he says, “Um, hey Styles.”

Derek gives him a tight smile, not genuine, and doesn’t that just tear Stiles apart. They’d been close for ages. Derek had only had genuine smiles for him for ages.

“Hey Alex,” Derek says back, standing aside and letting him in.

They stand awkwardly in the hall for a few moments, before Stiles says, “How are you?”

Derek shoves his hands into his pockets. “Okay, I guess. And yourself?”

Stiles smiles. “Never better.” It’s a little bit honest, at least.

Derek snorts at that, and it takes Stiles by surprise. “I hate to break it to you, but you don’t look that great.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yeah. I would describe you like ‘death warmed up’.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to laugh then. “Poetic.”

Derek shrugs. “People said it to me a lot when I first got here.”

“That’s right, you’re new here aren’t you? How long you been living here?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already been told all about me.”

Stiles shrugs. “Only bits and pieces. I’d like to hear it from you.”

Derek looks taken aback by the suggestion for a moment, perfect eyebrows high on his forehead. He opens his mouth to answer, but the doorbell goes, and Derek moves away to answer it. Stiles watches him welcome the new girl, someone he calls Rachel, and then Derek introduces them to each other. Rachel looks at him knowingly, and he wonders if Williams had told her about him. Her smile is wide though, genuine, and it puts Stiles at ease.

When she’s moved past them to see Williams in the kitchen, Derek says to Stiles, almost hushed, “Maybe some other time.”

Stiles nods. “Sure. Of course. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, though.”

Derek looks thoughtful for a moment, but says, “No, it’s fine. Some other time.”

There’s another moment of silence before Derek clears his throat, and says, “So, what are you doing in town?”

It’s a question Stiles is ready for, has rehearsed a million times. “I’m working on an article about small-town life, visiting various places in different states and feeling them out.” It’s weird, lying to Derek, because there’s never been any point before. But if this Derek was able to detect lies, he’d have figured that he wasn’t really Styles months ago, so it feels like a safe bet.

Derek nods. “So you’re a journalist?”

“Yeah.”

“How long are you in town for?”

And the thing is, Stiles isn’t sure. Not really. He just wants to make sure Derek’s okay. He shrugs. “As long as I need to be.”

-

The night’s a success. Derek and Stiles sit next to each other, whether intentionally or unintentionally, and they spend the evening swapping furtive glances at one another. Stiles is, apparently, really good at poker. He wipes the floor with everyone, mercilessly. Derek kinda just ends up gaping at Stiles after the eighth hand he wins, and Stiles smiles smugly.

Rachel elbows him, looks pointedly from Derek to Stiles and back again, and he gives her a small nod. She knows about Stiles, is here as much to make sure something doesn’t trigger anything awful in Derek, but as the night goes on and that seems more and more unlikely, Williams finds himself genuinely enjoying her company more. She’s absolutely the funniest one there, and while she can’t play poker for shit, she so obviously doesn’t care. It’s wonderful. Williams has to catch himself every now and then because he doesn’t want to be caught staring.

They all settle up around 11pm, sliding one dollar bills into Stiles’ hands. They all take a while saying their goodbyes, and Williams doesn’t miss the way Derek’s eyes linger on Stiles as he waves his way out of the front door.

Rachel leaves next with a kiss to his and Derek’s cheeks, and then they’re left alone. Williams turns to him, and says, “Not so weird anymore, right?”

Derek shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “He’s okay, I suppose. Still stares too much.”

Williams rolls his eyes. “You know, you’re not exactly one to talk about creepy staring. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Alex tonight.”

Derek shifts his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Williams smiles. Carthage is a small town, but he’s met more than many gay men, and has seen enough couples to know what longing looks like. He thinks of the despair on Stiles’ face when he’d come to the station that second time, of the utter relief that had pooled from him when he’d found out Derek wasn’t dead. It had seemed like more than friendship then, and it still does now.

Maybe this is another instinct for Derek.

-

When Stiles gets back to the room he’s renting in a nearby motel, he feels even more resolved that he can’t tell Derek the truth. He’s so goddamn happy, so free and _happy._

And it hurts to think that he’s not going to get Derek back, that the relatively new friendship they’d been forming won’t ever become what it could have been. But it’s for the best, he knows. It’s for the best.

He calls his dad, can feel his exasperation down the phone. “Stiles,” he says, sighing. “You need to tell him the truth. He needs to come back to Beacon Hills. I can’t believe you’re even considering leaving him there.”

“He’s happy here, Dad. What would I be bringing him back to? A dead family and no pack? He’s got friends here, people love him.”

“And what if he remembers? A month, a year, a decade down the line? Do you think he’ll thank you for leaving him with total strangers?”

“Yeah, Dad, I do. Derek was always too self-sacrificing to know what was best for him, to know that leaving Beacon Hills would have been best for him. This is what’s best.”

“Jesus, Stiles, how can you make that kind of call?”

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “Life’s full of tough calls. I’ll probably stay for another week or two, tell Williams anything he might need to know about werewolf life.”

His dad sighs. “Sure, kid. Fine. I still think this is a bad idea, and I hope you change your mind. But, hell, I don’t think anyone’s been able to convince you of anything before, so I don’t know what good me telling you will do.”

“Yeah. Sorry, dad.”

“Jeez, don’t apologise. Just don’t get hurt. And don’t let Derek get hurt.”

“That’s the plan.”

-

Williams gets a call from Rachel on Sunday, happy laugh singing down the line. “Last night was fun! Where did you find Alex?”

“Son of one of my friends from a few towns over. He’s here, um,” Williams pauses, trying to remember what exactly Alex had said. “Doing some research for an article about small town life.”

Rachel hums thoughtfully. “Styles seemed to take a liking to him.”

Williams laughs, remembers Derek’s keen eyes practically glued to Stiles the whole night. “You noticed too? Yeah, maybe there’s something there.”

“I’d like it for Styles to find somebody. Beside, that butt is wasted moping around his apartment.”

Williams rolls his eyes. “Quit objectifying the guy, Rach, hasn’t he been through enough?”

“Can I objectify Alex then? Such cute moles. How long will he be in town?”

“Firstly, he’s about fifteen years younger than you. And secondly, I’m not sure. Long as he needs, I guess.”

“That’s fair. Well, if I can’t objectify Styles or Alex, can I at least objectify you?”

Williams laughs, hoping the sound will cover the hitch in his breathing at the thought of it. His laughter kind of just tails off awkwardly, though, so Rachel sighs, and says, “Sorry, I thought I was being obvious, but apparently not. Guess I’ll have to do this then.” Williams pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, but then Rachel is continuing, saying, “Wills, do you wanna go out sometime? Coffee, movie, dinner, something like that?”

Williams’ mouth goes dry. “Uh, like a date?”

“Yes, dude. Exactly like a date.”

Williams swallows, his heart beating deafeningly fast. “Yeah. Yeah. I’d really like that.”

“Great! Pick me up on Wednesday at 6? You’re not working then, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Okay then. What shall we do?”

Rachel’s laugh is lovely, open and happy and dancing straight into Williams’ heart. “Hey, I can’t do all the work here.”

-

Stiles calls his dad at Monday lunchtime, sits through the expected, ‘You can’t make these kinds of decisions for someone else,’ and ‘you’re only going to end up hurting yourself more’, and ‘how long will you be out there? Have you thought about when you’ll be back at work?’, and Stiles gives his planned responses, ‘I’m not certain yet, I might still tell him,’ and ‘I’m fine, Dad, honestly,’ and ‘Summer starts in a week, there’s no point me going back for literally five days, I’ll go back in the Fall’, and while his dad is in no way happy, he accepts Stiles’ answers and rings off having coaxed a promise out of him to keep him up to date.

He kills time hanging round his motel room and texting Scott before deciding to head down to the diner for dinner. The streets are mostly empty, a few smiling faces enjoying the good weather and a peaceful Monday. Stiles sees a couple of children aged around seven playing with hula-hoops near the park, and he wonders, absently, if they were among the children that Derek saved that night. Stiles doesn’t really know anything about it, just that a lot of children were in a lot of danger, and Derek had to do some very not-nice things to save them. Lost himself in the process.

He’s spent a lot of time, these last few days, doing research in his room on whatever it was that hurt Derek, and he’d phoned Scott and Deaton and Lydia about possible ways of bringing back Derek’s memory. The overarching theme of all this research seems to be ‘nope, sorry.’ No-one can figure out what exactly sent Derek’s memory away, and mostly, they seem to be sure it’s not coming back.

He’d asked them, also, what they thought of Stiles not telling Derek the truth, and predictably, none of them had been too keen on the idea. But then he’d told them what he’d seen, how easily happy Derek is in this new life, how all the weight seems lifted from his shoulders. They’re still not convinced, but maybe, maybe they will be.

And if Derek’s never going to remember his old life, not really, there seems little point in introducing him to the miseries he’d once been used to. Stiles doesn’t want to be the one responsible for dredging up Derek’s painful past. No. Derek’s happy, and Stiles wants to keep him happy. He deserves that much, at least.

When Stiles pushes the door to the diner open, he scans the diners quickly, and his eyes settle easily on Derek, sat at the bar with a cup of coffee in front of him. Stiles steels his resolve and sets out towards him.

He clears his throat as he approaches, sliding into the seat next to him, and Derek looks up, not at all surprised to see him there. And yeah, this is probably some werewolf shit coming into play, but Stiles isn’t at all sure what kind of werewolfy stuff Derek’s even capable at the moment, so.

“Hey,” Stiles says, fidgeting with his fingers. “How’re you doing, Styles?”

Derek shrugs, smiles briefly. “I’m doing alright, thanks. And yourself?”

Stiles quirks his lip. “You mean you’re not just gonna tell me I look like death again? Because that was really appreciated, it meant a lot, honestly.”

Derek laughs, his breath huffing out with amusement. “I figured it would be rude for me to say it twice in a row.”

And then Stiles is smiling, but his heart is tearing itself apart, because this feels so familiar, this conversation. He and Derek could have had this exact conversation in Beacon Hills, sat at Derek’s kitchen table, bare feet cold against the tiles after a supernatural research or Call of Duty sleepover. It’s both a jolt of joy to his heart and a painful tug at his gut to know that there’s still some Derek in there.

It’s a close thing, but Stiles manages to stop all of this from tumbling out of his mouth, and instead, he manages a quick, “Let no man accuse you of not having manners.”

Derek lifts his coffee cup in mock salute, and says, “Damn straight,” knocking the last trickles of liquid back in one.

Stiles thinks this means Derek’s about to leave, but then a little old blue-haired lady is in front of them, dropping down a burger and fries and glass of orange juice in front of Derek. She smiles when Derek thanks her, then turns to Stiles. “Anything I can get for you, hon?”

He orders a veggie burger, because while he can cook decently for himself at home, motel living leaves a lot to be desired, and he really needs some actual vitamins in him before he gets rickets. When the waitress, Mabel, her badge seems to say, has nodded and turned away, Derek’s just staring at him, mouth stuffed full of burger and perfect eyebrow perfectly arched.

Stiles glances from left to right, and says, “Yeah?”

Derek swallows his mouthful. “Are you a vegetarian?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nope. Just always been a fan of a bean burger. Very nutritious.”

“So’s meat.”

Stiles nods. “True. But if you eat a veggie burger, you don't have to bother with salad on the side.”

Derek smirks, shrugs a little. “Trust me, Alex, you don't have to bother with that anyway.”

Stiles laughs, despite being caught off guard by being called Alex, and manages to say “You sound just like my dad. I'm always trying to get him to eat more healthily, and every time I try, he says ‘vegetables are pointless and unnecessary.’ Although I don't seem to remember saying that when I was a kid.”

Derek smiles. “I imagine that's basically how parents are with everything.”

Stiles nods. “I guess. Were your parents like that?”

Derek rolls his eyes and taps his head with a greasy finger. “Can't remember, can I?”

Stiles feels bad, instinctively, but Derek is smiling, and it puts him at ease. “God, sorry, can't believe I forgot.”

Derek shrugs. “Forget about it,” he says, teasingly, and Stiles laughs despite himself.

Mabel places a plate in front of Stiles then, and as he picks it up, Derek says, “Williams said you were writing an article? About small towns?”

Stiles hums through the massive bite he's just taken, and a bean falls out onto the plate. He's embarrassed, obviously, but Derek is eyeing him with amusement. Stiles chews quickly, and swallows, saying “Yeah, about what it's like, how different it is from big cities, that kind of thing.”

Derek nods, dropping a fistful of fries into his mouth, before saying, “That doesn't sound like it should take that much investigation, to me. I'd have thought the differences would have been obvious.”

Stiles shrugs. “The readers of the magazine I'm writing for are idiots.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What magazine is that?”

Stiles reaches desperately in his mind. “Um. It's the, um, official Drumpf Tower magazine.”

Derek dips a fry into some ketchup. “I don't know that one, I'm afraid.”

“Yeah, well, that's cos you're not an idiot.”

Derek snorts. “You don't know that.”

“Call it instinct,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek finishes his burger and takes a gulp of orange juice. “So how are you writing this article then? Just hanging round diners?”

“Talking to people, mainly. Interviews, that kind of thing.” He takes a breath. “Actually, maybe I could interview you?”

Derek looks surprised, for a moment. “Why? I have no memory.”

“Yeah, I guess. But you're also kinda like a blank slate, you know?”

Derek takes another drink. “Maybe.” He finishes his glass. “I gotta get back to work. Nice talking to you, Alex.”

Stiles bids him goodbye and watches him leave, noting, heart in his throat, that the smile Derek gives him as he goes out the door is something closer to the smiles he's used to. Not exactly. It's closer to how he smiled in the first few years they knew each other, tight, but with familiarity. But it's closer.

-

Williams finds Derek doing paperwork in the garage office on Wednesday morning, pressing buttons on a calculator, eyes narrowed as if suspicious of something. “What's up, Styles? Accounts not going your way?”

Derek sighs, drops his pen down to the desk. “I don't think I'm good at math, Wills. I doubt I've ever been good at math.”

Williams laughs. “Are you struggling even with a calculator?”

“I've done these sums about eighteen times and I get a different answer every single time. How is that possible?”

Williams raises his hands defensively. “Wish I could help, man, but I think I'm probably worse at math than you.”

Derek sighs. “Rachel?”

“Always complains about math. Sorry.”

Derek drops his forehead onto the table, groaning. “I need this finished by noon. How am I going to do that?” he asks, voice muffled by the wood.

“Andy won't care.”

Derek lifts himself up. “I know. It'll be fine. But I wanted to be able to do this without help, for once. Like I haven't been able to do at all since I came here.”

Williams thinks for a moment. “Maybe try Alex? He seems pretty smart.”

Derek looks like he's thinking for a moment, and Williams doesn't want him to say no out of some unnecessary feeing of awkwardness. He also desperately wants for Stiles to lose some of the weariness he's carrying around with him, the weariness that lessens each time he's with Derek. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, starts rapping, and he says “Here, I'm texting you his number.” He can hear the buzzing from Derek's pocket as the message arrives.

Derek shakes his head. “He's probably busy, I don’t want to bother him.”

Williams smirks. “I wouldn't be so sure. Give him a call. Get to know him. He's a nice guy.”

Derek looks, again, ready to say no, but something inside him must switch, because then he's saying, “Right, okay then. Fine.”

Williams smiles. “Great. I gotta get back to work, but good luck with all the stupid numbers!”

Derek smiles unhappily, raises his hand in a wave, and just before Williams reaches the door, calls after him, “Oh, did you come see me for something?”

“Ah, yes,” Williams says, looking back. “I'm going out with Rachel tonight.”

Derek's clearly ready to ask a thousand questions, but Williams slips out of the door before he has the chance, really, properly happy for the first time in a while.

-

Stiles is lying in bed, reading a book he's read a thousand times, when his phone rings. It's not a number in his contacts, so he answers cautiously. “Hello?”

“Hey, Alex?”

Stiles bolts upright, book flinging out of his hand haphazardly. “Styles!” he all but shouts. “Hey! How are you, man?”

“Umm, not too bad. Just doing some paperwork. And you?”

“Uh, great, really great. Good to hear from you. Wills give you my number?”

“Yeah. I actually need a favor, if it's not too much trouble? I don't want to be any bother.”

Stiles is already reaching for his pants (clothes aren't always necessary, okay), as he says “Of course! What do you need? Are you okay?”

“It's just, there are these sums I have to do, and I'm completely stuck on them. If you're any good at math, I would really appreciate your help?”

Stiles is toeing his shoes on. “You at the garage? I can be there in ten?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks Alex, really, this means a lot.”

“Forget about it,” Stiles says, already closing the motel room door behind him. He hears Derek huff out a laugh down the line. He smiles.

-

Derek's sitting at the desk when Stiles wanders in not too long after. He looks up at Stiles, eyes frustrated and pleading. Stiles lets out a long whistle. “Wow, you really don't like math, do you?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, I really do not. Do you?”

Stiles shrugs, comes to a stop on the opposite side of the desk to Derek. “Not my favourite thing in the world, but I'm all right.”

Derek nods. “I'll take it. I'll buy you a thousand vegetarian burgers if you'll do this for me.”

“Deal. Although how about I teach you how to do it, so if I'm not there next time, you'll still be able to?”

Derek contemplates this for a moment. “Okay, sure. Seeing as next time you probably won't be here.”

Stiles moves around to the area behind the desk, grabs a chair that's sitting abandoned, and drags it up next to Derek, his insides clenching at the thought of not being here, not being with Derek.

“I can always come back and visit,” he offers, dropping into his seat.

Derek eyes him warily. “You've been here, what, a week? How are you that attached already?”

Stiles shrugs. “It's a nice place. Got nice people.” He picks up a pen. “Now, let's see what we got here.”

He drags the papers towards him, absolutely succeeding at ignoring the hole Derek's practically boring into his head with his eyes.

-

Stiles is good at math, and the things Derek needs help with aren't too complicated. He picks them up easily, and takes over not too long after Stiles starts helping him. When they finish only fifteen minutes later, Derek looks so bewildered with himself it's all Stiles can do not to burst out laughing.

“Dude, you shouldn't be so surprised. You're not an idiot.”

Derek snorts. “Is that the only way you know how to compliment people? By saying they're not idiots?”

Stiles shrugs. “People seem to enjoy it. Unless you'd rather I called you an idiot?”

Derek shakes his head. “Thanks for this,” he says, gesturing to the paper in front of him. “I know it's not difficult, but, well, I don't exactly remember High School.”

Stiles smiles. “Seriously, it's no problem. I wasn't doing anything today anyway.”

Derek crinkles his eyes in amusement. “What about your article?”

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “I'm not really making too much progress with that. It's harder to make interesting than I thought.”

Derek smiles. “Because even idiots like me understand it already?”

Stiles smacks Derek's arm. “How many times? You're not an idiot.”

Derek laughs. “If you like, I could read over it for you? See if anything needs changing?”

And Stiles should say no, because he has nothing for Derek to look over, but Derek's watching him with his lovely eyes, and Stiles, all of a sudden, has forgotten any words other than ‘yes’.

“Yeah, sure, that would be great, actually.”

Derek smiles. “You can come over to mine this evening? I'll text you the address?”

“Great! Great. So I'll see you tonight then?”

Derek nods as Stiles lifts from his chair and begins making his way to the door.

“Oh, and Alex? Thanks, again. For this.”

Stiles smiles. “Forget about it.”

-

Stiles hauls ass pretty quickly back to his motel room, frantically pulling out his laptop and opening up a new document, typing in words almost at random.

What the hell was he thinking? Now he has to write some kind of bullshit article about something nobody would be interested in? In, he looks at his watch, six hours? How is he supposed to get a whole article out of small town living?

He groans and opens up his web browser, and briefly searches the internet for any kind of article he can copy, but as it turns out, this subject is so boring that no one online has written about it. And internet people LOVE writing about boring stuff.

But then…he wants to spend time with Derek, wants to sit close to him, hunched over his laptop, wants to make the most of every second before he'll have to give him up and leave him for Beacon Hills.

Sighing, he taps at the keys wearily. At least if what he writes isn't very good, Derek will have to spend more time helping him. That's something, right?

He types some more. It's not the first time he's had to bullshit a load of bullshit about something he doesn't care about in a very short space of time. Probably won't be the last, either. Small town living it is.

-

Stiles knocks on the door to Derek’s apartment just after six, and only has to wait a few moments before its swinging open. Then Derek’s standing there, fully dressed but with wet hair like he's just come out of the shower, and Stiles has to take a moment to drink him in, the Derek that's been missing for over ten months, the Derek that's safe and okay and alive.

And then Derek breaks through, clearing his throat. “Alex? You coming in?”

“Right! Sorry. Got distracted for a moment.”

Derek's mouth twists in amusement. “What by?”

Stiles shakes his head, pushes past Derek into the building. “Nothing. Just haven't really had my head on today.”

He stands in the hallway as Derek shuts the door and says “It seemed all right when you were helping me this morning.”

He gestures for Stiles to make his way down the hallway, so he does, and as he goes, he says, “Math is confusing and irrational, you shouldn't take it as a basis for how I am.”

Derek barks out a laugh as they both step into what looks like Derek's living room. “I thought you liked it?”

Stiles shakes his head as he drops onto the big plush couch taking up about 99% of the room. “Nope. I'm just okay at it.”

Derek's still standing, looking down at Stiles. “Fair enough. Can I get you a drink?”

Stiles smiles. “A coke would be great, if you have it?”

Derek snorts, turning away. “I may have amnesia, but even I know what coke is.”

Stiles looks up at him sharply. “Really? Is that something you remembered? Or something you learnt about afterwards?”

Derek leans on the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “I think I just remembered it? I'm not really sure. I don't think I remember there being a moment where I tried coke for the first time in Carthage, so I guess. You know. That's something that stuck.” Derek shrugs. “Like how I know how to use the toilet. Didn't need teaching to do that.”

Stiles laughs, then. “God, can you imagine Williams trying to teach you how to use the toilet?”

Derek makes a face. “I'd really rather not.”

Stiles is still laughing as Derek turns away, imagining Williams trying to be patient, saying, “Now, Derek, aim it into the toilet.”

He stops laughing when he remembers that Williams would have called him Styles, not Derek. That's going to take some getting used to.

-

“Sooooo……what do you think?” Stiles asks, taking another sip from his glass.

Derek glances up from the screen at him, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. Stiles isn't pressed in close, or anything, but he can feel the heat coming from him.

Derek clears his throat. “Well,” he starts.

Stiles cuts him off sharply. “It's okay to say it's a massive pile of crap, you know. I'm pretty sure it is anyway. I'm seriously thinking about just giving up on it completely.”

Derek bites his lip, not quite meeting Stiles’ eye. “It's not…awful?” he offers tentatively.

Stiles laughs. “Oh my god, yes it is, I know it is. Seriously, you don't have to lie to make me feel better.”

Derek sighs. “Your writing’s really good. It's just…not a very interesting subject.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I don't know why I agreed to take it.” He puts his glass back onto the table, watches with amusement as Derek lifts it up and places it on top of a coaster, almost without thinking.

Stiles pulls the laptop away from Derek. “I'll just, er, email my editor, tell him I'm not doing this story anymore.”

Derek shifts, turns to look at him. “It's not your fault it's boring, though? You can still finish it as best you can, right?” He gives a small smile. “What will the people reading, err, Pump Power Magazine do without learning about small town living?”

Stiles laughs, full bodied, happy. “Ah, you know, I don't think they'll much care either way.”

Derek drops his eyes to look at his hands, and Stiles’ eyes follow their path. His fingers are playing with each other, one hand idly picking at the nails of another.

He looks strangely sad, and Stiles wants him to look not-sad, so he says “I’ll stick at it, for a bit. See if I can make it any better.”

Derek looks back up at him. “Great! You're a good writer, you shouldn't let something like a boring subject stop you from trying.”

Stiles nods with genuine enthusiasm. He couldn't care less about the article, but seeing Derek so earnest, caring about Stiles, wanting him to feel better about something? It's so like the old Derek. Stiles aches.

“I think I've had enough for one day, though,” he says, shutting his laptop and placing it onto the coffee table.

Derek smiles, reaches out for his own bottle of beer sitting in front of him. “You can stay, if you like? We can maybe order take-out?”

“Depends. Pizza is a yes, so is Chinese and Mexican. Sushi is a no, for gross reasons I’d really rather not go into.”

“Pizza’s good with me,” Derek says, laughing and rising from the couch. As he pulls out a menu from a chest of drawers by the window, he pauses. “Maybe I can tell you about what happened to me.”

Stiles nods, happily. “I'd like that. If you wouldn't mind.”

-

They're maybe four beers in each, collapsed onto the couch with bellies stuffed with pizzas and garlic bread. Stiles could taste the wolfsbane in the beer, had wondered, momentarily, where Derek had got it from. It doesn't matter. Stiles lolls his head to one side and smiles at Derek. “Dude,” he says, voice sleepy and content, “that was one of the greatest pizzas I have ever eaten in my life.”

Derek smiles, laughs. “You should try New York pizza. I swear to god.”

He's dropped his head onto the back of the couch, and his eyes are resting closed. Stiles gapes at him, waiting for him to continue, to somehow qualify that. When Derek doesn’t, he asks, “Er, Styles? What did you just say?”

“Hmm?” Derek peeks one eye open to look at Stiles. “What was that?”

Stiles takes a moment, watches Derek's untroubled face carefully. “Have you, ever, maybe, been to New York?”

Derek's other eye pops open. “Not since I came here. And otherwise I'd have no idea. Why?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing. Just a thought.”

He remembers Lydia’s soft, concerned voice down the phone, Deaton’s firm one. Derek’s memory is never going to come back. They're 99.9% certain. Sometimes things are just slips of the tongue.

“So,” Stiles clears his throat, letting the alcohol loosen his tongue. “You were gonna tell me about what happened? You know, to you?”

Derek snorts, reaches for the bottle on the table that's barely got any beer left in it. “It's really,” he takes a swig, “not an interesting story. I don't know why everyone makes such a big deal out of it.”

Stiles, head still resting against the back of the couch, says “Humor me.”

“I just woke up in the hospital. With no memory. Apparently a bunch of kids had found me out by the woods, called for an ambulance or something. But for some reason, everyone treats me like I'm either a saint or completely helpless.” He gestures around him to the rest of the room. “All of this was free. All my groceries are free. I got a job only because I was desperate for something to do. Wills always talks about the town wanting to be helpful, but this just goes beyond, you know?”

He finishes the last of his beer, drops the bottle onto the table. Stiles looks at it, for a moment. “Sometimes, sometimes good things just happen. And you have to learn when to embrace them. Not everything is bad just because it seems good.”

Derek stares at him, eyes misted with something Stiles can't place. After a moment, he says, “I just don't think, I don't think I deserve it. I don't think I'm a very good person.”

Stiles furrows his brow. “What, why? Why would you say that?”

Derek sighs. “I don't. No one came looking for me. No friends. No family. I can't have been a good person if no one’s come looking.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment. Derek's not meeting his eyes, his head again on the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Maybe they just don't know where to find you,” he says, quietly.

Derek huffs. “It's been a year. No one’s coming for me.”

Stiles reaches a hand out, but drops it pathetically mid way to Derek. “I think you're a good person,” is all he can say.

Derek turns to face Stiles, a small smile quirking his lips. “Thanks, Alex.”

Stiles smiles back at him. “Hey, by the way, where did Styles come from? It's not exactly a normal name.”

Derek shrugs. “Apparently, when I woke up, it was the only thing I would say. And I calmed down when people called me it, so I guess it stuck.”

“Maybe,” Stiles says quietly, “maybe it's someone else's name. Someone who's looking for you.”

Derek looks away again. “I don't think so. It feels too, I don’t know, right? And I hope, I hope that if there was someone like that? That I wouldn't leave them. Or. Or that they wouldn't leave me.” He shakes his head, as if clearing a fog from his eyes. “No. No there's no one waiting, and my name is Styles. It's fine.”

Stiles stretches his hand out again, fingers brushing Derek's forearm. “I. I'm glad I know you.” It's hardly more than a whisper, but Derek's eyes slide back to him.

“You barely know me,” he says, lowly.

Stiles shakes his head. “I'm glad I met you, then.”

They're both watching each other, breaths deep and eyes drooping, when Derek's phone rings, vibrating violently on the wood of the table, jerking them out of their stupor. Derek curses, leans forward to pick it up.

“Hey Wills. Yeah? That's great, really great. Seriously. Ah, yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sure. Yeah. Bye then.”

He drops the phone back down, turns to Stiles. “He went out with Rachel tonight. Didn't kiss her, but they held hands the whole way home.”

Stiles lets a smile break out across his face. “That's so freaking cute,” he says, lifting himself up. Derek nods in agreement, and there they are again, watching each other. Stiles clears his throat. He wants to say thank you, thank you for being alive, thank you for still being you, I'm sorry you've suffered like this and that you think no one cares. “I should get going,” is what he says instead.

-

Williams finds Stiles in the diner the next morning, looking worse for wear, hunched over a plate of eggs and bacon. He slaps a hand onto his shoulder as he sits down next to him. “How are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles shrugs. “Been better. It's hard, being with him and not being able to tell him.”

“You could tell him. That's always been an option.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No. No, he's happy, for the most part. I'm not going to take this away from him.”

Williams sighs, and then says, “For the most part?”

Stiles spears some bacon, waves it about in the air a little. “He's sad that no one’s come looking for him. He thinks it means he was a bad person, before.”

“You could make him less sad about that, you know.”

Stiles drops his fork down. “I know. I know. I came really close, last night. But it would hurt him too much, to be reminded of everything. He's not going to remember by himself. He'd just have to go through the pain all over again.”

Williams nods. “I don't really agree; but you know that already. It’s your choice, I guess. You know him best.”

“Thanks, man. And you'll look after him, when I leave?”

“Of course. You don't have to worry about that.” Stiles smiles and shoves some egg into his mouth. Williams continues. “How long will you be staying for, anyway?”

Stiles stops and thinks for a moment. “I don't have to go back to work until the beginning of September.” At Williams’ arched eyebrow, he adds “I’m a teacher.” Williams nods, and Stiles continues. “I'd like. I'd like to stay till then, I think.”

Williams nods. “Sure. You got yourself a good two and a half months, there. What are you going to do with all that time?” He smiles, nudges Stiles gently. “Bet you that article will be really good by the time you leave, eh?”

Stiles laughs. “Oh god, the article. I don't know how I'm going to string that out any longer. I had to actually write it yesterday. I've never written anything so bad in my life.”

“Well, good luck with whatever excuse you come up with for staying. I'll speak to Doris at the motel, see if she can't give you a discount if you're staying long term.”

“That's be great, actually. I hadn't really thought too much about how expensive it was all getting.”

Williams smiles. “Any friend of Derek's is a friend of the town’s.” He claps a hand to Stiles’ arm again. “Stay as long as you like. We like having you here.”

“Sure. And who's ‘we’ exactly?”

Williams laughs. “Okay. Me, Rachel, and Derek. Especially Derek. But that's enough, trust me.”

Stiles smiles shyly at his plate. “It's so strange. I thought he'd be different, but he's not. He's so similar. Just with different memories.”

“He's still the same guy, right? Still overly loyal, ruthlessly stubborn, tough as nails on the outside but real soft at heart?”

Stiles, dreamy eyed, says “Yeah. That's him.”

“Good to know we're not actually harboring a violent criminal,” Williams says, and Stiles shakes his head.

“People make assumptions based on his….sometimes grumpy demeanor. Myself included. He was always easy to throw under the bus.” He looks sad for a moment. “It's good that people care about him so much, here.”

“We owe him a great deal. And he’s a lot of fun to be around, most of the time.” Stiles doesn't seem to have a response to that, just gazes down at his breakfast quietly, and so Williams says, “I've got to get to work. But think some more, about telling him, you know? It might not be the end of the world if you do.”

-

Stiles doesn't tell him, of course. He spends Thursday and Friday considering it and most of Saturday morning working up the nerve to, before deciding, while walking into the diner and seeing Derek smiling brightly at a little girl dressed as a fairy, not to.

The little girl’s mother pulls her away just as Stiles approaches, and Derek grins up at him. “Hey Alex, long time no see,” he says, and Stiles slides into the booth opposite him.

“How have you been?” he asks, reaching out to Derek’s plate and grabbing a couple of fries.

“Stop that,” Derek chides, swatting Stiles’ hand gently. Stiles smirks and crams the fries into his mouth, raising his eyebrows mockingly, and Derek laughs. “I'm doing okay, how about you?”

Stiles shrugs, chews quickly and swallows his mouthful. “I'm okay. My editor gave me an extension on the article, so I have till the beginning of September now.”

Derek's eyes bug almost comically. “Wow. That's generous. They must really want this article.”

Stiles waves his hand about. “I honestly don't think he cares. I'm freelance, anyway, this isn't my main job.”

“Oh? What is?”

“I teach High School, usually.”

“Oh, wow. That kinda fits, actually.”

Stiles smiles. It had been Derek who'd suggested he try teaching in the first place. He can remember sitting in Derek’s apartment, drunk and giddy and just out of college, and Derek had said, “You should teach. You should, you're good at that. You're, you’re, people like you. You help people,” and he’d looked at Stiles with such intensity and genuine care that Stiles had nodded and said, “I'll, yeah, I’ll look into that. Yeah.”

And Stiles had been good at it, had enjoyed it, had found something he was happy to spend a lot of his life doing. Thanks to Derek.

“Thanks. So, yeah, I'll be here till September, it seems.”

Derek smiles; Stiles’ heart jumps. “That's great,” Derek says. “It's a great town.”

Stiles nods. “Company's not too bad either.”

And oh god, Derek almost blushes. He drops his head slightly, picks up a fry. He puts it into his mouth, chews quietly. “Are you free tonight? Wills gave me a list of movies to catch up on. Tonight it's something called Pulp Fiction? If you wanted, you could come round, watch it?”

He looks nervous, tentative, and it takes a moment for Stiles to realise Derek’s practically asking him on a _date._

So, of course, Stiles wants to spend time with Derek. Of course he wants to date him, to cuddle on the sofa while watching a film, to press kisses to his neck and wake up next to him in the morning.

He can't, though. He can't take advantage of Derek like that.

“I. I should probably get more of my article done, actually.”

Derek's face visibly drops, and Stiles panics. “Although, actually, one night won't hurt, surely? I have ages to write it, I suppose.”

Derek's smile is bright. Stiles just won't take advantage. He can watch a movie, that'll be fine. Just watching a movie.

-

Williams passes by Derek’s apartment, and stops in for a cup of coffee. “How's the last few days been for you, Styles? Remember anything new?”

Derek shakes his head. “Nope. But things have been good. I've seen Alex a couple of times.”

Williams nods. “That's good. He's nice.”

Derek nods, sips from his mug. “It's weird. He's only been in Carthage for a couple of weeks, but it feels like he's been here for ages.”

Williams smiles. “It's good that you've made a friend.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Thanks, mom.”

“Oh please. We all know I'm the protective older brother here.” Derek laughs. “Am I still good to come round for Pulp Fiction tonight?”

Derek nods, rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure. I've actually asked Alex as well.”

Williams raises his eyebrows. “Oh really? But Styles,” he places a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I thought movie nights were _our_ thing!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It's not a _thing,_ Wills, it's just a movie.”

“Sure. I do have eyes, you know.”

Derek furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Huh. Maybe _you_ don't have eyes.” Ignoring Derek’s confusion, he finishes the rest of his coffee, and says, “best be off. Things to do, people to see.”

Derek snorts. “And are both of those Rachel?”

Williams points a finger at Derek. “I have a gun, you know.” Just before he reaches the door, he turns back. “But yes.”

-

Stiles may have misread Derek earlier, because when he knocks on his door, it's Williams on the other side. “Hey Alex, come on in!” Stiles follows him a few steps down the hallway, before Williams turns and says “he's just in the kitchen,” and steers Stiles to the door to the right.

Derek is at the stove, stirring something that smells meaty and spicy, and Stiles drifts to it. “Hey man, god damn that smells good.”

Derek laughs, turns to face him, claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Thanks, Alex, good to see you too.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, it's not good to see you at all. It's all about the food my friend, all about the food.”

Derek huffs indignantly.  “You keep talking like that, you’re not going to get any.”

Stiles smirks. “Nah, you’re a feeder, I can tell. You couldn’t stand it if I left here hungry.”

Derek eyes him with amusement, watches as Stiles leans over the pot, eyes closed, inhaling deeply. When he pulls back, Derek asks, “Good?”

Stiles sighs. “So fuckin’ good man. Where’d you learn to cook like that?” Derek never cooked all that much, before. Nothing more than steak and potatoes, or the occasional pie.

Derek shrugs. “Books.” He lifts the lid to the pot onto it, setting the spoon to one side. “Okay, that’ll be done in about fifteen, so we can make a start on the movie?”

“Nah,” Williams says from behind them, and, oh, Stiles had forgotten he was even there. “No point starting it just to stop it straight away. We can kill fifteen minutes, right Alex?”

Stiles nods, suddenly aware of how closely he’s standing to Derek. “Sure. I assume Carthage’s finest have many stories about the mob, or grand theft auto, or murder most foul, or-“

“All right,” Williams holds up a hand. “I see your point, but a lot of exciting stuff does actually happen in Carthage. Just last week, a swan got into Mrs Miller’s garden!”

Derek and Stiles exchange glances at Williams’ eager expression, and then Stiles is bursting out with laughter, while Derek smiles, silently amused.

Williams sighs. “Yeah, okay. I heard it too.”

-

The food is delicious, of course, and Stiles wishes, suddenly, he’d made some kind of effort to cook with Derek when he’d still been his Derek. Whenever they’d hung out, it had always been Stiles cooking, those old familiar recipes his mom used to make. Either that or take out. But Derek seems to have some kind of natural talent, and this stew sure as hell trumps the bolognese he’s had nearly every other week for a decade.

He makes his pleasure known, groans happily through mouthful after mouthful, and Derek looks at him out of the corner of his eye, amusement playing on his lips.

“Oh man,” Stiles says, mouth filled with food from the gods, and a little of the gravy spills out of his mouth onto his plate.

Williams rolls his eyes. “Did your mother never teach you any manners?”

Stiles swallows. “Nope. She was fully supportive of my gross ways from day one.” He spoons up some rice, starts chewing on it happily.

He doesn’t notice the silence that’s suddenly fallen on the table. Derek’s watching him carefully, and Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow.

Derek looks for all the world like he’s about to speak, lip almost quivering with the effort of keeping what he wants to say in. Stiles looks from Williams to Derek, both now quiet and avoiding eye contact, and Stiles thinks back desperately to what he’d said to make the situation to awkward. He comes up short, shrugs happily, and goes back to shovelling food into his mouth.

-

The movie’s great, because of course it is. Stiles watches Derek’s reactions, sees him flinch at every gunshot, grimace, slightly, at the excess blood. This Derek isn’t used to violence, hasn’t become hard to the sight of blood. At the end, Williams says, “So, Styles, what did you think of that one?”

“I liked it,” Derek says, shifting slightly, jostling Stiles as he does so. “Some of the violence was a bit…excessive, though?”

Stiles barks out a laugh, because that stuff? Compared to some of the stuff they’d already been through? He can’t really say that, though, so when Derek and Williams turn to him, confused, he says, “I just started thinking about the Saw films. Man, you would not like those.”

Williams snorts. “Yeah, I haven’t even seen them and I know they’re way too violent.”

“Ooh, maybe we should do a horror movie night!” Stiles says, gleefully. “You know, introduce Styles to some of the less-nice films out there.”

Derek looks almost scandalised at that, says, eyes wide, “Would that _not_ count as a horror movie?”

Stiles and Williams both laugh, and Stiles says, “Oh, I have so much to teach you, you sweet summer child.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I highly doubt I’m younger than you, Alex.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Not the point, Styles, not the point.”

-

Williams spends the evening watching them closely, eager to see if maybe, just maybe, what he’d suspected was true, if their friendship was really something more. By the end of the movie, he’s pretty sure he was right. Twenty years on the force doesn’t leave you with zero instincts about these things. (Not that _this_ has ever come up before, but still.)

They just fit so well together, sat side by side, exchanging quips and glances with a simple familiarity that you wouldn’t expect in two people who’ve only known each other a few weeks. He wonders, absently, what Derek makes of their easy, seemingly new, friendship. Williams isn’t one to believe in soulmates, but if he did, he thinks he would see it in Derek and Stiles.

He still sees when Stiles watches Derek, subtly, quietly, looking for, _something,_ maybe. There’s hopeful longing in his eyes, and Williams marvels that Derek can’t see it. It’s obvious even in the way Stiles quickly looks away when Derek steals a glance in return, but then, Stiles can’t apparently see the way Derek looks at him either. He’s not quite so obvious as Stiles is, affection still tainted with something like confusion. But it’s there, that twinkle of interest.

It’s what causes Williams to make his goodbyes earlier than he might have normally, wanting to give Derek and Stiles some privacy. He’s a romantic at heart, so sue him. He doesn’t want to force either of them into something they’re not ready for, but Derek’s been on his own for the ten or so months since he’s been in Carthage, and seeing him so happy, relaxed, so carefree just through sitting with Stiles? It’s something he wants to keep for Derek.

He calls Rachel when he’s halfway down the street. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“Nothing, why?”

“How about a picnic?”

He can practically hear Rachel’s smile through the phone. “Sure, I’d like that.”

-

Stiles silently curses Williams for leaving so soon after the movie. There’s still a ton of food left to be eaten, it’s not even eleven yet, and now Stiles is faced with the awkwardness of being suddenly along with Derek. Last time they’d been alone together, Stiles had a plan, what to say and how to say it, had his article as an easy shield. This is too sudden – what if Stiles lets something slip?

He’s jogged from his thoughts when Derek’s suddenly behind him, tapping lightly on his shoulder. “Hey, here,” he says, thrusting a plastic box filled with food into his hands. “I’m not going to eat it all, soo.”

Stiles smiles. “Thanks. This was really good, by the way. You’re a really good cook.”

Derek shrugs awkwardly. “I wouldn’t say that. I can just follow a recipe.”

Stiles laughs. “You wanna talk to my dad about how that’s supposed to be easy. He can burn toast.”

Derek smiles. “Do you see him a lot?”

“Yeah, like every other day, usually. When I’m not travelling for writing.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I dunno,” Stiles says, shrugging. “I guess? We still talk, so it’s okay.”

Derek nods. He’s got that look back again, the one he had earlier, like he’s desperate to say something but doesn’t know how. Stiles sighs. “Dude, whatever you wanna say, just say it. I promise I won’t get offended.”

Derek looks sheepish, ducks his head slightly. “Sorry. It’s just, earlier, when you were talking about your mom, and now with your dad and stuff…”

It takes Stiles a moment to catch on, but he does, eventually, and says, “Oh! Oh, okay I get it. Yeah, she died. Ages ago though. Like over a decade ago.”

Derek nods, says, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles waves a hand about. “It’s okay. Seriously. I mean it’s still tough, sometimes, obviously. Me and Dad still miss her. And birthdays and holidays are hard, of course, and graduating without her, and seeing my dad date other people wasn’t easy, but it’s. You know. It’s fine.” He’s not looking at Derek, has his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, and it isn’t until he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder that he looks up and realises his eyes are wet. He’s not crying, but he’s not far from it.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” is all Derek says, and Stiles smiles, gratefully, because somehow, that feels like enough.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, eyes locked with Derek’s. They stand like that for a few moments longer, Derek’s hand on Stiles’ shoulder, staring at each other, before Stiles drops his gaze and Derek clears his throat, stepping back.

“I should go,” Stiles says, and Derek nods, giving him a small smile. “Thanks for tonight. And the cooking. I had a really great time.”

“Anytime,” Derek smiles. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Definitely. Umm, I’ll text you? Or you can text me?”

“Sure,” Derek says, and then he’s pulling Stiles into a brief, tight hug. Stiles has to will himself to pull away, because, oh boy, Derek smells and feels exactly the same as he did before. It’s easy to forget, like this, everything that’s happened. That Derek’s not really Derek. That they’ll never be what they were before, they’ll never have that same potential, that possibility for something more, maybe, in a thousand years’ time. He steps back, says, “I’ll see you soon, Styles,” and Derek smiles, and Stiles doesn’t, not at all, pine. Nope. Not at all.

-

Williams gets a text Sunday morning from Derek, a simple ‘thanks for coming last night! Also, do you know if Alex is single?’ and he rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might pop out of his head. He texts back, ‘anytime, man! And I’m pretty sure he is, why? You got heart eyes over him?’

‘No,’ comes the reply not long after. ‘Just curious.’ And then, a second text, moments late, ‘why, did he say something?’

Williams sighs. ‘Nope, not playing cupid here, sort yourselves out,’ and resolves not to text Derek again.

But then Derek’s reply comes through. ‘I just haven’t thought about….dating, at all, since everything. He’s the first who’s made me even consider it’

‘Then what’s the hold up?’ Williams replies anyway.

‘What if I wasn’t like into guys before? What if Alex isn’t?’

‘I’m pretty sure Alex is at least halfway into guys, and re you? You gotta work that for yourself. You can’t have changed that much, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Derek replies, ‘I guess’

‘Good luck!’ Williams sends cheerfully, knowing how unhelpful it is as a reply. He’s got a picnic to prepare for, after all.

-

Stiles calls his dad again on the Sunday. “I’m thinking of staying till the end of August, till I have to go back to school,” he says.

His dad sighs on the other end of the line. “Stiles, do you think that’s really a good idea?”

“Maybe. I don’t really know. I just don’t want to leave him, not just yet. Not when I’ve just got him back.”

“You know, Stiles, if you tell him, you could bring him back with you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dad, we’ve been over this.”

There’s a huff through the phone. “Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

“I have everything under control, okay?”

“Maybe right now, but, kid, you know how easily you get attached. You’re already in deep. You think you’re gonna be okay after a couple of months?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “I can come back and visit. Me and Derek can be friends, like before, just in different towns.”

“So you’re going to live a double life? One as Stiles, one as Alex? You’re not actually batman, you know.”

“You take that back!” Stiles shouts down the line. “I am _so_ batman!”

His dad sighs. A lot of their conversations seem to revolve around sighing, these days. “This does seem like the kind of thing batman would do. Making decisions that he shouldn’t be making.”

“It’ll be fine dad. He’s happy, I’ll be happy knowing he’s happy. You’ll be happy because I’ll be happy. Everyone’s happy!”

Another sigh. “You’re already in too deep, and every time you call me it sounds like you’re getting in deeper. I meant it when I told you not to get hurt, or let Derek get hurt.”

“No one’s getting hurt, Dad, I promise. I’m being super careful about that.”

They spend a few more minutes talking, idly chatting about what they’d done that week. As Stiles says his goodbyes, his dad says, “Remember, kid, be careful.”

-

Derek’s busy Monday through Thursday, elbow deep in oil or gas or whatever it is that makes cars work (Stiles has never been sure, and he doesn’t much care), but it means he’s holed up on his own for most of the week. He writes more of the stupid article, bullshits till he’s blue in the face. By the end of the four days he’s managed to write nearly a thousand words (in itself a miracle), and he can read through most of it without cringing too badly. He still can’t believe Derek bought that anyone would actually want to read an article about this.

On the Tuesday, however, Scott comes down to spend the day with Stiles in Carthage. He’s got some stuff to sort out in Beacon Hills, but passes through, and spends an hour trying to convince Stiles to just tell Derek everything. When Stiles refuses, he says, “Why is it you who gets to make the call? Why not one of us? I used to be Derek’s alpha, why shouldn’t I make the decision?”

Stiles sighs, nudges him with his foot. “You’ve been away for years, man. He doesn’t even have a proper pack anymore. It was just us in Beacon Hills for so long. Besides, you should see how happy he is here. Like, properly happy.” He sits straighter, suddenly. “You should come see him! You’ll be able to see how happy he is!” He’s pulling himself to standing before Scott can reply, holding a hand down to help him up.

Scott sighs, grabs Stiles’ hand and lets himself be pulled. “You’re not going to be able to convince me. But sure, whatever.”

-

Derek’s fixing cars, as predicted, broad back bent over the engine of some battered blue Ford. As Stiles wanders into Mack’s, he calls out, “Hey, Styles!”

Derek straightens up immediately, turns to face him with a broad, genuine smile, shirt dirty with oil and face smeared with grease. “Hey Alex, what’s up?” He approaches them, wiping his hands on a rag he snags from his pocket, arches an eyebrow when he sees Scott.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but Scott cuts him off with a quick, “I’m Scott, an old friend of Alex’s. Nice to meet you, Styles.” He holds out a hand for Derek to take, and then, at Derek’s nervous face that clearly betrays ‘I want to be polite but don’t want to get your hand dirty,’ Scott shrugs and says, “I don’t mind about the dirt, honestly.” Derek smiles and shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Scott. What brings you to Carthage?” he asks, and Scott shrugs.

“Just stopping by to see St-Alex,” he says, barely catching himself. “It’s, err, been a while, since we properly talked. Had a few things to discuss that were better done face to face.”

Derek nods knowingly. “Did you get everything sorted then?”

“Not entirely. Coupla things I’d like to clear up a bit later. SsssAlex just wanted to introduce you to me. He’s spoken a lot about you.”

Stiles is ready to jab Scott in the ribs if he doesn’t shut his mouth, but Derek just laughs, as if it’s _normal_ that someone he’s known for barely two weeks would tell his friends about him. “Not all bad, I hope?”

Scott smiles. “Literally nothing bad at all.”

Stiles clears his throat. “Actually, I seem to recall telling you he’s not the best at math? That’s something, right?”

Scott shakes his head, but, god, Derek nearly blushes. “Nah, that doesn’t count at all,” Scott says. When no one goes to say anything more, he continues. “Alex said you hadn’t been in Carthage too long. How are you liking it?”

Derek snorts. “I’ve been here a year, I’m not exactly new. But I like it. There’s nice people here.”

“Mhmm,” Scott replies. “Nice people in other places too though, right?”

Derek nods slowly. “I guess. Haven’t really been anywhere else. I’m sure Alex has filled you in already.”

Scott shrugs. “The basics. But you’re happy here, right?”

Derek looks at Stiles, a silent question of, ‘am I okay to be talking to this guy?’ Stiles gives an apologetic shrug, so Derek turns back to Scott. “I guess. I got no real complaints.”

“Okay. But are you happy? Yes or no?”

Stiles speaks then, pulling on Scott’s elbow helplessly. “Leave the guy alone.”

“Why are you asking me that?” Derek asks. “Yes, I’m happy. What’s your deal?”

Scott sighs, shakes his head. “There’s something I need to tell you. Alex is actu-“ is all he can get out before Stiles is clamping a panicked hand over his mouth.

“God, Scott, you’re such a kidder!” He fights with all his might to keep Scott quiet, which is not easy for someone as comparatively weak as Stiles is. Derek’s watching them, eyes wide, and like he wants to step in to help Alex. “Come on, dude, let’s get you a drink, Styles has enough on his plate without us bothering him!”

He starts to drag Scott away as Derek looks on with wide, confused eyes. Scott, for his part, obviously isn’t resisting, because if he was, there’s no way Stiles would even be able to try this. They get out of sight of Derek, and Scott throws Stiles’ arms off him with frustration. “Dude, what the hell?” he cries.

Stiles rolls his eyes, drags Scott further away, so they’re far enough from the garage that Derek won’t be able to hear. In the end, he just keeps dragging, and within a few minutes they’re back at the motel, Scott huffing with annoyance behind him. Stiles pulls him into his room and shuts the door. “You were going to tell him, what was I supposed to do?!” Stiles says, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Um, _let me_ , maybe?” Scott replies, and Stiles shakes his head.

“Did you not see him? Did you not see how happy he is?”

Scott sighs. “Buddy, he was lying when he said he was happy. I heard it. He might pretend to be happy, but he’s not, not really.”

Stiles bites his lip, looks down at the floor. “I don’t. He’s just upset because no one’s come looking for him. He’s happy really.”

“Stiles…”

“Please, Scott. Come back in a month, maybe, he’ll be happier then.”

“Are you hearing yourself Stiles? This is insane. You need to tell him.”

Stiles sighs, drops down onto the bed. “Why does no one else see that this is best for him?”

Scott sits down next to him. “Was he particularly _unhappy_ before? Back in Beacon Hills? Ignoring the whole family and pack stuff, day to day, when you saw him, did he seem unhappy?”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “Not really. But he was always kinda weighed down, you know? Like there was always a weight on his shoulders.”

Scott sighs. “I think there’s just a different weight, here. One you can’t see so easily.” He checks the time on his watch and stands. “I gotta get going, my mom’s expecting me.” He lifts his bag from the floor and slings it over his shoulder, and Stiles nods, stands. “I’ll let this play out for a bit, because convincing you of anything has always been impossible. But I really don’t think this is a good idea. If things go south I’ll come back, okay?”

Stiles nods solemnly, and says, “Give your mom my love. And check in on my dad for me?”

Scott smiles. “Of course. See you, bro,” he says, pulling Stiles into a tight hug.

Stiles hugs back.

-

Williams stops by Mack’s on Wednesday morning to get a light on his dash looked at, and stands next to Derek as he works.

Derek’s tense, not quite as laidback as he normally is, and Williams asks, “Everything all right?”

Derek sighs, rises up from where he’s bent over the engine of the car, and turns to face Williams. “It’s probably nothing,” he says, wiping his hands with a rag. “It’s just, Alex brought this guy round yesterday. It was really weird.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I think he was Alex’s boyfriend.”

Williams twists his face in confusion. “What? No, that doesn’t sound right. What makes you say that?”

“He was about to say something, the other guy, something like, ‘Alex is actually’, but then Alex literally dragged him away. Like he didn’t want him to tell me they were dating.”

Williams shakes his head. “If Alex had a secret boyfriend, that he didn’t want to tell you about, why would he bring him here?”

Derek looks down at the floor. “I don’t know,” he says, quietly.

Williams quirks a smile. “So you like him, huh?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Thought you knew that already,” he mutters, and Williams laughs.

“Yep,” he says, smacking a hand to Derek’s arm. “But it’s nice to hear it directly.”

Derek huffs. “Doesn’t make a difference, anyway, if he’s seeing someone.”

“I really don’t think he is. Really. What was his friend’s name?”

“Scott.”

Williams thinks back, remembers some conversation when Stiles first arrived, remembers him mentioning a Scott, a friend that had also known Derek. He smiles. “Ah, yeah, Scott’s just a friend. I remember Alex mentioning him, before.”

Derek furrows his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Think they grew up together, but now he lives far away.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what Scott was trying to tell you, but it wouldn’t have been that they’re dating.”

Derek nods. “Okay then. Okay, good.”

Williams smiles. “So what, you gonna ask him out then?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Will it make you shut up?”

“If it makes you happy, it will.”

Another eye roll. “Maybe. Now I have to get back to work.”

Williams smiles. “Good enough for me!” he says, brightly.

-

Stiles doesn’t hear from Derek until the Thursday. He’d been tempted to call him after Scott left, to explain the meeting and what had happened, but he’d chickened out just before he pressed the call button. And Derek was obviously keeping his distance. Stiles thought it was best just to let everything relax for a couple of days.

It’s Derek who makes the call, in the end. “Hey Alex,” he says when Stiles picks up. “How are things?”

“Not too bad. How are you?” Stiles replies.

“I’m good, thanks.” He takes a breath, like he’s gearing himself up for something, and Stiles waits. “Are you free this evening?” Derek asks, eventually. “The bar down the road is having a music night, if you wanted to go?”

Stiles smiles into the phone. “Yeah, I’d like that. Is Williams going to be there?”

There’s a pause before Derek speaks. “No, actually. It would just be us.”

Stiles’ heart lurches into his throat as his mind races. He can do this, spend time alone with Derek. He’s done it before, he can do it again. Nothing has to happen. “Okay, sure,” he says, careful, measured. “What time?”

“Come to mine at eight?”

“Okay, great,” Stiles says, brightly. “I’ll see you then!”

“Good. Great.” Derek says, before hanging up. Stiles spends a few moments catching his breath, calming himself. He can do this. He can do this.

-

Stiles psychs himself up for meeting Derek, but finds all of his anxiety floods away when he’s standing opposite him in the doorway of Derek’s apartment. It’s like the old days, in the heyday of their friendship, when nothing was awkward and things were so easy between them.

Stiles lifts a hand in greeting, and Derek smiles and steps out of the door to join him in the street. “Hey Alex,” he says, locking the door behind him. It’s still light out, the sun low enough to get into their eyes, and Derek squints a little at the intensity of it.

“How’s things?” Stiles asks, and Derek hums non-committedly.

They take a few steps in the direction of the bar, and Derek says, “So you gonna tell me what that was on Tuesday? With your, um. Friend. Scott?”

Stiles laughs awkwardly, rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. “Yeah, sorry about that. Scott’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and he has a lot of really, really embarrassing stories. I didn’t wanna risk anything too mortifying getting out, you know?”

Derek smiles, a small, quiet smile. “Could any story really be that bad?”

“Oh man, you have no idea,” Stiles laughs out. “I think he even outnumbers my dad on terrible stories I never want repeated. I was a pretty out-there kid.”

“Now that I find easy to believe,” Derek says, smiling when Stiles punches him lightly on the arm. “I thought,” Derek continues, more quietly this time, “maybe Scott was your boyfriend or something. That that was what you didn’t want him to tell me.”

Stiles practically yells out a laugh, the sound jolting Derek slightly. “Oh my god, seriously?” he asks, turning to Derek slightly as they walk. When Derek nods, somewhat embarrassed, he says, “I can’t even imagine that. He’s like my brother.”

“Okay then,” Derek says, and Stiles grabs onto his wrist, pulls him to a stop a few paces from the bar.

“Styles, were you. Were you jealous of Scott?”

Derek huffs, pulls his hand away. “No,” he says, sulkily.

Stiles doesn’t need werewolf powers to know he’s lying, and if this was a Derek who had all of his memories, he would be jumping for joy and tackling Derek to the ground for some public fun. But he’s sworn to himself that he can’t take that away from this Derek, the one who’s got a fresh chance at life, so he doesn’t, and says, instead. “All right, that’s good. Because there’s nothing to be jealous of.”

Derek nods sharply, carries on in the direction of the bar, and Stiles hopes he hasn’t managed to ruin the evening before it’s started.

-

Stiles makes the mistake of drinking enough to get tipsy, forgetting, briefly, that Derek can’t actually get drunk on anything they buy. (Unless he spikes his own drink, which he doesn’t seem to be doing.) Stiles manages to stop drinking after two drinks, enough to make him relaxed and chatty but not enough to make him do anything he wouldn’t otherwise.

He sips from the regular ol’ coke he buys and carries on in the easy conversation he’s having with Derek.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles says, hands firm on the bar in front of them, “that Mack should have asked you, and not just assumed you could work. Anyone else would have.”

Derek shrugs, says, “It’s not really a big deal, he was right to assume I didn’t have much on.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter, it was still an assumption! You could have been doing something!”

Derek smiles. “I don’t tend to do stuff during the day anyway. It’s fine Alex, honestly.”

Stiles snorts into his glass, says, “You don’t owe them shit, Styles. They chose to be nice to you, to take you in, you don’t have to work every fucking hour of your life that you’re free just because you feel like you oughta.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says, quietly, and Stiles waits for him to go on.

He doesn’t, so Stiles says, “What is it then?”

Derek sighs, drinks some of the beer that is having zero effect on him, and says, “People in my old life apparently don’t miss me. If I make myself useful here then, I don’t know. Maybe they’ll miss me here.”

Stiles’ heart shatters into about a million pieces then, tears itself apart from the inside out. He reaches a hand over blindly, holds it over one of Derek’s while staring at the side of his face, desperate, all of a sudden, for him to meet his eye. He does, eventually, shy, looking up slowly. Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand. “I bet anything in the world that there are people who miss you. I honestly believe that. You’re too good. And you don’t need to make yourself missable by working, okay? People would miss you already. Williams, Mack, Rachel. I would miss you. You’re good enough just as you are, I _promise._ ” And it’s maybe a bit heavy handed and sappy, but he’s had just enough to drink that he doesn’t care. And it making Derek feel better means looking like a soppy loser? Then so be it.

Derek is staring at him with such raw emotion and intensity that Stiles actually stops breathing for a second, his eyes swimming in unfallen tears. All Stiles can do is stare back, and then Derek’s leaning forward, ghosting his lips over Stiles’, and Stiles lets himself linger, just for a second, lets their lips press together for a heartbeat.

And then his head catches up with him, and he pulls back and pulls his hand away. Derek’s still in his space, eyes still fluttered closed, and then he’s opening them and pulling back too. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, shifting away awkwardly. “Don’t know what that was about,” he says, almost to himself.

Stiles swallows, wants to reach out and hold him, to kiss him again, to tell him everything he’s wanted to for years. Instead, he says, “don’t worry about it,” and goes back to sipping his coke.

-

Williams is sat at his desk when the call from Derek comes through, and it jolts him from where he’s almost falling asleep over paperwork. “Hey Styles, what’s happening?” he asks as he answers.

“You were wrong,” comes Derek’s gruff voice, and Williams furrows his brow.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were wrong about Alex. He doesn’t – he’s not interested.”

“I don’t understand. Is he dating Scott?”

He can hear Derek huff down the line. “No. And he’s still not interested.”

Williams pinches the bridge of his nose, genuinely confused. “What happened?”

“I kissed him. And he pulled back. And looked horrified. So there. That’s it.”

Williams sighs. “Where are you right now?”

“Home.”

Williams pushes his chair back and stands, phone still pressed to his ear. “I’m coming over.”

Derek snorts. “Don’t know what good that’ll do.”

“Because,” Williams says, dropping the files back into the drawer, “I can tell you’re mopey as shit. And you need to talk this out. And explain to me in more detail what happened, because that doesn’t sound right to me.”

“You don’t have to, Wills, I’m fine. I just wanna go to bed, forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Williams shakes his head, even though he knows Derek can’t see it. “At least tell me what happened.”

Derek doesn’t reply immediately, and Williams is about to prompt him, when his voice comes down the line. “We went out to O’Riley’s. It was going well, I thought. We had, I don’t know, a moment. I kissed him, he pulled back, I apologised, things got awkward. We left, now I’m calling you. Happy?”

“You said he looked horrified, before, what makes you say that?”

“…Because he looked horrified.”

Williams sighs. “Okay, I can see that’s all you’re going to give me tonight. I’ll drop by Mack’s in the morning?”

“Nothing I can do to stop you.”

“Well golly gee, looking forward to seeing you too, Styles!” Williams replies with mock brightness.

That, at least, earns a huff of amusement from Derek. “Sorry,” he says, quietly. “It kinda bummed me out more than I expected.”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. See you, Wills.”

Williams hangs up, drops the phone down onto the desk, and leans down. From what he’s seen of Stiles and Derek so far, he was almost certain that Stiles felt something for Derek. He drops back down into his seat, and rests his head in his hands. This is going to take some figuring out.

-

There’s a knock on his door the next morning, and Stiles is hoping it’s Derek. He’s planning to call him that night, maybe ask him to hang out again, try to get back some of the friendship they’d built over the last couple of weeks.

Stiles knows, logically, he did the right thing. Doing anything with Derek would just be taking advantage of his lost memories, making him do something he wouldn’t do otherwise. Stiles couldn’t live with himself if he did that.

But he still wants to be friends with Derek, this Derek, the one who’s still his Derek but slightly more free. So he’ll do what he can to stop the awkwardness and get back to how they were before.

It’s not Derek on the other side of the door, but Wills, and Stiles smiles and steps to one side to let him in. “Yo, Wills, what’s happening?”

Williams smiles, says, “I was actually hoping you could clue me in to that. Maybe you could shed some light on why Derek’s so unhappy all of a sudden?”

Stiles sighs. “I’m sure he’s already told you,” he says, not meeting Williams’ eyes.

“He’s told me what happened. I’d like to know why, is all,” he says, with an easy shrug.

Stiles shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed. “I can’t take advantage of him, can’t do anything with him. It wouldn’t be right.”

Williams crosses his arms. “How do you figure?”

Stiles looks up at him. “He’s not him. If he had his memories, he wouldn’t even wanna – I don’t know if he’s ever even been with guys before.”

Williams looks confused for a moment. “I thought you two were an item? Before?”

Stiles furrows his brow. “What? No. No, we’re just good friends. There’s never, ever, you know.”

Williams sits down next to Stiles then, an arm’s length of distance between them. “He’s very into you now. Maybe he was just hiding it, before.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe.”

Williams shrugs. “So what if he likes some other guy who comes into town? You gonna tell him not to do anything, because you don’t think he was into guys before? What if he’s now only into guys? You gonna stop him from seeing anyone, ever?”

Stiles huffs. “Okay, okay, I get your point,” he concedes, hands out in surrender. “But it’s different, because it’s me, you know?”

“He likes you. He obviously liked you before, even if it was only as friends. And if he’s not getting his memories back, I mean, this is who he is now. This is his life. I honestly don’t see what the problem is.”

Stiles is quiet, and Williams props a hand onto Stiles’ shoulder. “Think about it,” he says, and Stiles nods.

-

Stiles calls Scott on the Friday evening. “There have been…developments,” he says, and he can hear him sigh.

“What kind of developments?”

Stiles presses his fingers into his eyes. “Derek kissed me.”

He can hear the rustle of fabric from where Scott is presumably sitting on his couch, and he says, “He did what?”

“He kissed me. At a bar last night.”

“…Okay, okay, and then what happened?”

Stiles sits down on the bed. “Nothing. I pulled away, he looked embarrassed, we went home. Separately. But.”

When Stiles doesn’t continue, Scott says, “But what, Stiles?”

“His friend, Williams, came over. He said Derek likes me. And that I shouldn’t let the fact that Derek’s got no memories stop anything from…happening.”

Scott’s quiet for a few moments, before eventually saying, “All right. So what now?”

“I don’t know, Scott. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Do you want anything to happen with Derek?”

“That’s just it. It’s not Derek. Not really.”

“What makes you say that? He seemed pretty normal when I saw him.”

“Because he’s lost all of his memories, Scott. I woulda thought you would remember that.”

“Okay, but how is he different? Like, realistically?”

“He’s happier, lighter, less weighed down all the time.”

Scott sighs. “So, he’s just a happier Derek? Dude, that doesn’t sound like a drastic change. That sounds like something that could happen with therapy.”

“But he’s into me, Scott. He never was before.”

“You don’t know that,” Scott supplies, unhelpfully.

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Yeah but, not really. You can’t know that for certain. And if it would make you both happy?”

Stiles balks. “So you’re telling me to take advantage of Derek while he’s lost his memories?”

“I don’t think it would really be taking advantage. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yeah, cos that would go down so well. ‘Hey, your name’s actually Derek, _I’m_ really Stiles, I knew you back before you lost your memories, and I’ve basically been lying to you since day one.”

Scott sighs, and says, “Not that, obviously. If you’re absolutely determined not to tell him the truth, then maybe just, I don’t know. Tell him how you feel, and that you’re worried because he has no memories. What’s the worst that could happen?”

And the thing is, Stiles isn’t sure what the worst would be. Derek had tried to kiss him, so it probably wouldn’t be outright rejection. Maybe the worst would be Stiles explaining his reservations, and Derek agreeing, and nothing happening? Although isn’t that supposed to be what Stiles wants?

Stiles sighs. “Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him. But, just. You know.”

Scott sighs. “But what?”

“Let’s say we do something. Maybe, possibly. And then let’s say he gets his memories back, and, you know, hates me? You’ll be on my side, right?”

“Yes, Stiles. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Stiles shifts. “You don’t think his memories will come back? Or that we’ll do anything? Or that he’ll regret it if his memories come back?”

“I don’t think he’d regret it. Honestly. But I don’t think you should worry. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

“Real helpful advice Scott, real helpful.”

He hears Scott shrug on the other end of the line. “I’m not exactly knowledgeable about this either. Seriously, good luck, man.”

-

On Saturday morning, Stiles walks into the diner to find Derek in his usual spot, hunched over. He thinks he can see Derek stiffen slightly when he walks closer, wonders if he knows Stiles is here, if he’s refined his wolfy senses enough to tell.

He clears his throat when he gets to Derek, who looks up at slowly. He gives a tentative smile, no teeth, nods, and says, “Hey Alex,” and then looks back down at his food.

Stiles slides in next to him. “Hey. Can we. Can we talk somewhere? It can be here, if you like.”

Derek looks up at him again, eyes nervous and wary. “Is it about Thursday?” he asks, looking down again. “It won’t happen again, don’t worry,” he says, voice low.

Stiles clears his throat. “It is, but don’t, that’s not. Can we go to your place maybe? I wanna do this properly.”

Derek sighs. “It’s okay that you’re not interested, Alex, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to tell me that, while _you_ only see me as a friend, you just know that I’m a great catch, and someday I’ll find the man or woman of my dreams.” It’s bitter, and a little melodramatic, but it’s so _Derek._

Stiles smiles. “I mean you are, and you will. And it’s not that I’m not interested, because I am. It’s just,” he shifts slightly in his seat. “You don’t have your memories, you know? I’d feel like I was taking advantage. And what if you weren’t, you know, into guys? Before? I wouldn’t want, if you got your memories back, for you to hate me.”

Derek looks at him, then down at his half empty plate, and then up again. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, drops a couple of notes onto the counter, and says, “Yeah, let’s talk at mine.”

-

Derek looks small and sheepish when Stiles follows him into his apartment and into the kitchen. Derek pulls a glass from a cupboard and fills it with some water, takes a gulp, and says, “You want any?”

Stiles thinks for a moment, then nods, and Derek pulls out another glass which he fills with water and passes to him. Stiles says “Thanks,” and takes a gulp, before setting it on the counter and turning to Derek.

“So, I’d really like for you to say something. About what I said. If possible.”

Derek nods. “Yeah, okay. I just. It’s been nearly a year, since...” he vaguely gestures to his head, while Stiles keeps watching. “I’m not like I was when I first came here. I’m not confused or naïve, and I might not be who I was before, but I know who I am now. And it’s not looking like I’m going back to how I was, so who I am now is all I’ve got, really. Do you. Do you get what I mean?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.” He takes a cautious step forward, reaches out a hand and wraps it around Derek’s wrist. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, stepping closer still, toe to toe. “As long as you are.”

Stiles bites his lip, nods, and, throwing caution to the wind, leans in to press a kiss to Derek’s lips.

It’s soft, small, chaste, and then Derek’s bringing a hand up to Stiles’ chin and cradling it, angling his head and moving gently with him. Stiles drops Derek’s wrist and brings his hands to Derek’s waist, holding on lightly, and then harder, as the kiss grows more insistent. Derek brings his other hand to Stiles’ back and pulls him in sharply, and Stiles can’t help but smile as he does so, before diving back in with more fervour.

There’s tongues and teeth and all of a sudden Stiles is dizzy with the force of it, clinging onto Derek as he sways into him. Derek reaches a hand up to card through Stiles’ hair, and Stiles lets out a low groan. He feels Derek’s hand tighten against his head at the sound, and it’s all Stiles can do not to push Derek up against the counter and press them flush together.

He resists, though, and after a few moments they pull apart, hands still holding each other, chests heaving and lips wet. They just watch either other, quietly, and then Derek’s smiling. No, not smiling. _Beaming._ Stiles’ breath catches, and he grins back, brightly, saying, “I’m guessing you don’t regret that?”

Derek rolls his eyes, still smiling, and instead of answering, leans back in to press another kiss to Stiles’ lips. It’s just like that for a few moments, sweet and innocent, and they pull apart, hands dropping to their sides.

There’s silence for a beat, and Stiles is worried it’s suddenly going to get awkward, but then Derek’s eyes are still bright, and he says, “Wanna watch _Storage Wars_?” and Stiles laughs, nods, reaches out to grab his hand, and pulls him towards the living room.

-

Williams is staying late at the station, trying to put the pieces together in a series of car-thefts that should be connected, but just don’t seem to be, and he’s staring down at an annoying piece of paper that won’t tell him what he wants it to. His phone rings suddenly, buzzing angrily on the desk, and he jumps and knocks over his mug filled with pens in the rush to pick it up.

“Hello?” he says, managing to catch a pencil just as it rolls to the edge of the desk.

“Hey Wills,” Derek is saying on the other end of the line.

“Styles, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Derek says, and when he says nothing else, Williams clears his throat.

“Pretty sure you’ve got something you wanna say to me, Styles, so just go ahead and save us both the pain of me drawing it out of you.”

Derek laughs, and then quietens, saying, “You were right. About Alex.”

Williams smiles into the phone. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah. He found me and came round to mine and. Well.”

“Well? Any sordid secrets?”

Derek sighs. “ _No._ We didn’t do anything. Just, just kissing. And then we watched _Storage Wars_.”

Williams barks out a laugh. “You old romantic, you.”

Derek’s snort comes down the line. “Shut up. Have you even kissed Rachel yet?”

“Nope, we were not talking about me. Go.”

“Nope, I’ve said all I have to say. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Williams smiles. “Of course I do. Thanks for telling me. And I’m happy for you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Wills.”

“Great. Now get back to your _Storage Wars_ love-fest and let me get on with this police work.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

-

Stiles calls Scott when he gets back to the motel, because of course he does, and Scott all but shrieks at him down the phone.

“Dude! Yes! Awesome!”

“Okay, calm down dude, it’s not that big a deal,” Stiles laughs.

“Yes, yes it is, c’mon man! You and Derek? That’s great!”

Stiles can’t help but smile, mind wandering to how it had felt sitting pressed up to Derek’s side, hands sliding over each other’s, exchanging sweet kisses as the television played in the background.

“Yeah. It is, isn’t it?” He scratches the back of his neck. “And you don’t, you don’t think it’s wrong in any way? I’m not taking advantage?”

Scott sighs down the line. “You _know_ I don’t think that. We’ve been over this. This is a good thing! I mean, it’s not ‘telling him the truth’ levels of good, but for what you’ve decided? This is good.”

Stiles chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I hope so. We’re going out tomorrow. Like, on a date.”

“Yeah? I’m happy for you, man. Where are you going?”

“Movies, then dinner. I know it’s not super exciting but-“

“That’s great, dude, seriously. You both deserve some proper happiness.”

Stiles is grinning like a fool by the end of the conversation, and he crawls into bed devoid of guilt and happier than he’s felt since before Derek disappeared.

There’s a text from Derek when he checks his phone before bed. _Good night_ _J_

Stiles grins, sends back a quick _good night! See you tomorrow!_ and he’s asleep before he knows it.

-

“Sooooo,” his dad drawls out on the other end of the line. “You and Derek?”

Stiles flushes red. “How did you know?”

“Scott and Melissa talk, me and Melissa talk. All three of us have been worried about you. I didn’t exactly have to waterboard anyone.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “Are you mad?”

“No?” his father replies, apparently confused. “Honestly, I’m concerned. I can’t see this ending well. But I like the idea of you both having something like that in your lives.”

Stiles hums thoughtfully, can’t bring himself to come up with a response.

After a few moments, his dad says. “You okay there, kid?”

“Yeah. Just, you know. Making sense of stuff.”

He laughs. “Well, good luck with that. I’m guessing this means you’re definitely not coming back before fall?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably.”

“What about afterwards?”

Stiles furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“When you have to go back to school. Is Derek going to come back with you?”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t. I haven’t really thought that much about it. I don’t think so.”

“Right. So you’re going to spend the Summer with him and then leave?”

“We can do long-distance?”

“While you lie about who you are and who he is.” It’s not a question. Stiles deflates.

“I’m hoping I’ll be able to figure it out. Later, I guess.”

He can hear his dad breathing down the line, silently contemplating, before saying, “I keep saying it, I know, but be careful. You both stand a lot to lose here. A lot to gain, but a lot to lose.”

“I know. I know, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you more, kid.”

-

Derek is endearingly early picking Stiles up from the motel, sheepishly and nervously wringing his hands. Stiles smiles brightly at the pops of color in Derek’s cheeks and he says, “Hey, Styles! Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready.”

Derek nods, a small smile on his lips, and Stiles stands back, and says “Come on in and wait wherever!” and then he dashes off to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and send a panicky ‘wish me luck!’ text to Scott.

When he comes out, Derek is standing awkwardly by the bed, peering at a photo Stiles has on his nightstand.

Stiles panics for a moment, wonders if it’s a photo of the two of them that he’d forgot to put away (maybe the one from two Christmases ago that his dad had snapped, with Derek glaring grumpily at the camera from under a santa hat, and Stiles beaming wildly at the sight of Derek with tinsel around his neck). But he steps forward and sees it’s him and his dad at graduation.

Derek straightens up when he hears Stiles approach, turns to him. “This your dad?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. Graduation.”

Derek snorts. “I figured that out, thanks.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, smacks Derek lightly on the arm. “Come on, big guy. Wine and dine me.”

It’s meant as a joke, but then Derek holds the door for him. It’s going to be an interesting evening.

-

If you asked Stiles what the movie had been about, put a gun to his head and promised to kill him if he couldn’t say, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. And it wasn’t because he and Derek were getting frisky in the back row or anything, nothing like that. It was just…distracting. Being so near Derek, being able to reach a hand across and lace their fingers together, to stare at the side of his face in the dark and not have to worry about being caught or embarrassed.

It was something loud and explosion-y. That’s all Stiles can really say.

They go to the only non-diner restaurant in town, Le Papillon, and as they sit across from each other in the dim light, Stiles can’t believe how….datey, this all is. Whenever he imagined doing anything with Derek, it was always hard and fast, frantic pulling followed my lazy familiarity, lounging on a sofa watching trashy TV.

Stiles can see that Derek is almost shy, flicking glances up at him from under his eyelashes, and it makes Stiles’ insides curl. Derek on a date is wonderful.

They chat, they laugh, Derek snorts at the squash lasagne Stiles orders, Stiles rolls his eyes at the steak Derek orders. With each minute that passes, it feels more and more like how it was before, when Derek was in Beacon Hills, and Stiles’ heart gets more and more attached. He thinks, as he’s stuffing some garlic bread into his mouth, about what his dad had said, about what will happen later. He still doesn’t know, but he thinks, really. He can’t let this go.

Derek says something that makes him laugh, and Stiles huffs out and sends a spray of crumbs across the table and onto Derek’s shirt. Stiles’ eyes are wide, his mouth slack with embarrassment, and he hastily chews so that he can swallow and apologise without making an idiot of himself. But then Derek’s face is being split apart with a grin, his eyes light as he throws his head back and starts laughing. Stiles finishes his mouthful without showering Derek in any more food, and when he swallows, he joins in with the laughter. It’s infectious.

As he laughs, Stiles manages to get out an “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” but it’s breathless and insincere, and Derek shakes his head as he calms down.

“It’s fine, honestly,” Derek says, still huffing out laughter. He looks around at the other diners, some of whom are throwing them not too friendly looks, but Stiles waves a hand around.

“Ignore them. They’re just annoyed because they’ve never had food spit on them by a handsome man.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Neither have I.”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “Hey, screw you, man! I happen to be considered one of the most attractive men-“

“In that seat?” Derek cuts him off, and then Stiles is laughing again. This was how it had been, when Stiles was back from college, and everyone else had moved off and away, everyone knew what they wanted from life and had gone off seeking it, and Stiles was just kind of…there. But Derek had been there as well, with a proper apartment and a proper job and they’d kind of drifted towards each other, forming a friendship that was far easier than either of them could have expected.

They’d never really had the chance, before, when Scott was first turned and Stiles was angry at Derek for a thousand made-up reasons. Their friendship, which had never really been a proper friendship, more like ‘I tolerate you and would rather you didn’t die’, became something proper, something real. They went to the movies, they hung out at each other’s places, ate shitty take-out and recommended books to one another. Derek never took Scott’s place, because, you know, _Scott,_ but for the last few years, Derek had been his best friend. There’s no question.

This Derek is the same. Just newer.

-

Derek walks him back to his motel, looks up at the flickering sign as they stand by his door. He reaches out and snags Stiles’ hand, links their fingers. “Thanks, for this evening,” he says, stepping in close.

Stiles smiles, squeezes Derek’s hand in return. “You walked me home. I feel like I’m supposed to say that to you.”

Derek shrugs, taps a head against his temple. “Amnesia. I don’t know these things.”

Stiles laughs. “I know you have a TV, dude.”

Derek smiles. “Okay,” he says, rubbing a thumb against Stiles’ hand. “I’d like to kiss you, now?” The inflection is there, it’s quiet, but it’s definitely there. He’s asking Stiles’ permission, and Stiles’ heart skips.

“Now I _know_ you’ve been watching cheesy rom-coms on that TV of yours,” he says, leaning in close. “And yes. I’d like to kiss you too.”

Derek brings his other hand up to Stiles’ jaw, smiling, angles his head, and leans in.

-

Williams runs into Stiles buying groceries Monday morning, his basket filled with chips and soda, and he clears his throat and looks with raised eyebrows at the food. “I seem to remember being told you are somewhat of a health freak.”

Stiles huffs, rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he replies. “I don’t have a kitchen at the motel, this is just for snacks and stuff. And I’m not a health freak. I’ve got no idea who would tell you such _lies.”_

Williams smiles. “How’d it go last night?”

Stiles ducks his head, smiles, face suddenly flushing. “Good. Really good.”

“Get any action?”

Stiles’ head snaps up again, eyes wide. “What? No, no. I mean we haven’t spoken about it, but I think. I think we’re going to take it slow.”

Williams shrugs. “You do know you don’t exactly have ages, right?”

“Hey, I’m not talking glacial here,” Stiles laughs. “I wanna do things right. After everything he’s been through, it’s what he deserves.”

Williams smiles. “I knew I was right to have a good feeling about you.”

Stiles blushes, rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

He’s obviously struggling for a response, so Williams just raises a hand and says, “It’s okay. I’d tell you to look after him, but I don’t think you need reminding about that.”

-

On Friday, Stiles is watching some chat show with Derek, curled up with him on his soft couch. Stiles head is on Derek’s shoulder, and there are fingers carding idly through his hair. It’s comfortable, really comfortable, and maybe it’s strange that they’re at this point so soon, but then again, somehow it isn’t. It feels right.

The doorbell rings, and Derek pulls himself away from Stiles’ octopus arms to answer it. He hears Williams call out a cheery, “Hey Styles!”, and hears Rachel kissing Derek’s cheek, and then all three are back in the living room.

“Alex!” Williams is smiling, wide and bright from ear to ear. “How would you feel about a double date with me and Rachel?”

Stiles notices then that he’s all dressed up, nice suit and fancy tie, and Rachel, always beautiful, is in a particularly nice red dress. He glances over to Derek, who shrugs apologetically, as if to say, ‘I’ve got no idea,’ and so Stiles says, “You mean right now?”

Rachel nods. “Yep. We’ve got reservations at a really fancy place a few towns over. We were going to meet my sister and her husband, but they’ve been called away suddenly. You guys in?”

Stiles stands, gestures to his worn jeans and plaid shirt covering a not-exactly-fancy t-shirt. “I mean….” he trails off, and Rachel waves a hand about.

“We’ve got time,” she says, rather off-hand. “You can go change.”

Stiles looks back at Derek. “You up for it, big guy?”

Derek shrugs. “Sure, why not? I’m not sure I’ve got any clothes fancy enough, though.”

Williams snorts. “Styles, I definitely remember Mrs Morgan throwing a suit at me to give to you. It must be around somewhere. Alex, Rachel can drive you to the motel while I look with Styles?”

Stiles shrugs at Derek who shrugs in return. “Okey doke! Be back in a bit!” He brushes past Derek, squeezes his arm gently as he passes, and Rachel follows closely.

It doesn’t take long to get back to the motel, so Stiles doesn’t have to worry about making awkward conversation with Rachel. She chats happily about how nice the restaurant is, how she’d only been there a few times before, and her excitement is infectious. Sure, watching trashy TV with Derek had been fun, but this is something else, something that feels real.

His suit isn’t the fanciest, and probably has a few too many creases, but Rachel looks approvingly at him once he’s wearing it, so he mustn’t look too terrible.

He isn’t entirely prepared for seeing Derek in a suit when he gets back. And then, when he thinks about it, he can’t remember having ever seen Derek in a suit before. It’s fitted well, hugs his muscles nicely and shows off his broad shoulders and strong waist. His mouth goes a little dry. Stiles thinks Derek might be looking at him with the same thoughts in his mind, but his body’s never been anything close to Derek’s. He shifts a little, pulls at his sleeves, and Derek smiles.

“You look great,” he says, quietly, Williams and Rachel putting the address of the restaurant into one of their phones.

Stiles smiles. “You should see yourself. View’s not so bad.”

-

The restaurant is in the nearest big city, a place called Aston that Stiles had visited once with his mom and dad, and it’s not the biggest city, but compared to Carthage, it might as well be Tokyo. The restaurant is big and glitzy, with dim lights and three sets of silverware per place setting. Stiles has never been anywhere so fancy in his life, and he feels a little overwhelmed by it all.

He brushes his hand against Derek’s as he follows Williams and Rachel to their table, and Derek smiles at him. It’s a tight smile, almost ‘rabbit caught in the headlights’, but it makes Stiles feel a little better.

They chat easily and casually as they browse the menus, and Derek elbows Stiles and points to the six salads they have listed. He raises an eyebrow and says, “Only if you’re starving though. I’m not sure you could manage fourteen whole leaves otherwise.”

Stiles scoffs, knocks him with his hand. “Screw you mountain man,” and then orders the thickest, meatiest steak on the menu, just to prove him wrong.

He realises his mistake when he sees Derek watching him eat from the corner of his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He’s accidentally given Derek exactly what he wants.

He stuffs his mouth full of fries and points a fork at him. “Vegetable dishes are still delicious; this doesn’t change anything. Steak is still unhealthy.”

Derek snorts, rolls his eyes. “How convenient that everyone else has to eat salad, but you’re allowed to eat what you want.”

“Hey! I eat healthy all the time! You make fun of me enough to know that.”

Derek laughs. “That’s true, at least. And the looks you give me when you see what I eat, seriously.”

“You eat like a teenager!” Stiles cries out. “Besides, I’m just looking out for people! It’s a service. I’m keeping everyone I love healthy.”

He doesn’t notice Derek still slightly beside him, doesn’t see Williams and Rachel exchange curious glances, just carries on eating happily and squashes his peas with his fork.

-

They get back from the restaurant at about midnight, everyone, besides Williams, pleasantly buzzed from the wine, and stomachs sleepily full.

He’s parked outside Derek’s, and says, “Alex, you need a ride home?”

Stiles glances at Derek, who drops his gaze to his shoes, and says, “Sure, that’d be great, thanks.”

Derek unbuckles his seatbelt, leans across the backseat and drops a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips, before bidding his goodbyes and leaving the car. He waves as he opens the front door, and Williams drives away.

He drops Rachel home first, squeezing her hand as she goes, and then Stiles moves to the passenger seat for the last two minutes of the journey.

“Okay, please, for the love of god, tell me what I did wrong,” Stiles says as they pull up to his street. “That was so awkward by the end, what did I do?”

Williams sighs as he parks. “You don’t need to worry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. You just, and I’m not sure you realised? But at one point, you kinda said that you loved Derek.”

Stiles splutters. “What? No I didn’t! Did I? When?”

“You just said that you make sure the people you love eat healthy. It was implied. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Stiles is obviously trying to think back to what exactly he said, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Williams sighs. “It’s fine. I know you probably do love him, what with the history, and all. But he’s only known you for, what, a month? So he’s probably just processing it. It’ll be fine.”

Stiles sighs. “Shit. I didn’t even realise.”

Williams smiles. “You didn’t seem like you did.” He reaches out and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder. “Just talk to him in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, unbuckling and opening the door. “Thanks for tonight, anyway. Sorry I made it weird.”

Williams rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now go, get some sleep. I’ll see you around.”

Stiles waves as he steps up to the door of his motel room, and Williams rolls his eyes. He can vaguely remember being young, terrified of his own feelings and what people would think when they found them out.

He’s got no time for games these days. You love someone, you tell them. And he knows, really, that Derek’s not going to have a problem with this.

He watches Stiles lock the door, and drives away.

-

It takes all of Stiles’ nerve to call Derek the next morning. He can’t stop thinking about what he said even as he’s listening to the phone ring.

He figures the best route is just to pretend nothing’s happened, and hope Derek doesn’t mention anything. Avoidance always works, right?

Derek’s voice is warm when he answers with a “Hey, Alex,” and Stiles smiles down the phone.

“How’s things, Styles?”

“Not too bad. And you?”

“I’m good. Was just checking in.”

“Yeah? I was actually just about to call you.”

Stiles’ stomach clenches. “Oh really?” he says, keeping his tone light.

“Yeah. Did you want to meet for lunch today? At the diner?”

Stiles smiles, never has been any good at denying Derek anything. “I’d like that. One?”

“I’ll see you there.”

-

Derek greets him with a peck on the cheek, and Stiles smiles at the sensation. They order before taking their seats in their regular booth.

Derek clears his throat, very obviously avoiding Stiles’ eyes. “Listen, Alex. About last night.”

Stiles swallows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. About what you said? Um, about keeping the people you, um, love, healthy?”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, um, about that-“

“It’s just,” Derek interrupts. “I haven’t, obviously, I mean maybe I have, but I just can’t remember? This is all new to me. You know? And it’s only been a week, and-“

“It was, it just came out,” Stiles says. “I don’t think I was really thinking. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Derek shakes his head. “You didn’t, I promise. It’s just, well. I don’t know much about, you know, relationships. And everything’s happened really fast, since I met you.”

“I get it. And if it makes you feel any better? This is all new to me too. I mean, a relationship like this. It has been super-fast.”

Derek clenches his fists softly. “Even so. I want this. As much as we can, until you go back.”

Stiles lets his eyes rest close, briefly. “I’m trying not to think too much about going back, to be honest,” he says, with a short laugh.

Derek reaches a hand out, curls it around Stiles’ fingers. “We can carry on, right? After you go back? People have long-distance relationships all the time.”

Stiles snorts slightly. “This is so weird. We’ve only had two dates.”

Derek smiles. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. But call it instinct.”

Stiles meets his eyes, bright and defiant, but also a little nervous, watching him carefully. He thinks about not only knowing that Derek is safe, but about having him around for good. He thinks about the months of thinking he was dead, of mourning and grieving and crying.

He thinks of the relief when he’d found out Derek was alive. He can still feel it coursing through him, that unrestrained happiness, tinged with disbelief and numbness. He wants Derek. He wants to try.

“Okay,” he says, eventually. He tightens his grip on Derek’s hand. “Let’s give it a go.”

-

Stiles thinks, genuinely, that it’s all too easy. Being with Derek as more than friends, being something like a proper couple? It just kinda happens.

They spend the next few weeks in each other’s pockets, watching films, eating foods, at one point going bowling with Wills and Rachel. (Stiles is awesome, Derek is terrible, and Stiles _loves_ this fact.) They kiss and hug and fall asleep drooling on chests, and Stiles can’t remember a relationship ever happening so naturally.

He puts it down to Derek’s wolfy instincts and Stiles’ knowledge of all things Derek. It works for them, anyway.

They don’t do anything beyond kissing and cuddling (save one _very_ heated session after a good two or seven beers, and even that had just included some light over-the-trouser grinding), and it’s just all so easy.

Three weeks before Stiles is due to leave, Derek asks him to stay the night. They’ve been out on a date, walking through the park and looking at the stars, and now they’re back at Derek’s, chatting about nothing.

When Stiles looks at his watch, Derek says, “You could stay?”, and there’s this hopeful tone to it, anxious and cautious, like it took all of his courage to even ask that. And, honestly, Stiles wants to stay, wants everything with Derek, and even if he knows that, deep down, this is maybe a bad idea? Well. Stiles is the king of bad ideas. Just watch.

So he replies by stepping forward and pulling Derek into a kiss, a slow, chilled, soft movement of lips and teasing tongue. Derek replies in kind, and then pulls back, leans his forehead to Stiles’, and says, “Is that a yes?”

Stiles replies by kissing him again.

-

Nothing really changes, after that night. Their days are the same, teasing and laughing and being very very happy, and now, instead of parting ways, or Stiles going back to his motel, they fall into bed together. And they don’t always have sex. Sometimes it’s just falling asleep together. But it’s, well. Nice. More than nice. Great. Fantastic. Unbelievable, wonderful, perfect. It’s like nothing Stiles would have imagined.

He only has one complaint, and it’s something he can concede is pretty much unavoidable. It’s that, in bed, Derek calls out ‘Alex’. It’s no one’s fault, a problem with the stupid situation. But still. It weirds him out.

It’s also really strange having to call out his own name in bed. As much as Stiles is the king of fake self-confidence, he’s not exactly a narcissist. And as much as he’d like to just bite his tongue and not say anything, Stiles is still a complete chatterbox. He has to say something. And somehow, he’s pretty sure it won’t go over well if he calls out ‘Derek’ in the throes of passion.

So he grits his teeth and buries his face into Derek’s neck and mouths silently against the stubble there. And it works.

The article's pretty much forgotten. Derek doesn't mention it, so neither does Stiles, and it's like Derek never really believed it in the first place. And, really, why would either of them think about some article, when they can just fall into bed together instead?

-

“So have you told him about the werewolf thing yet?” Williams asks, opening up another beer to pass to Derek.

Derek accepts the beer and snorts. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Wills sits next to Derek. “Why not? I thought you were serious about him?”

Derek shrugs. “I am. But I’ve got away with not telling him so far. Why would I risk ruining everything?”

Williams sighs. “Now why would that ruin anything?”

“I know I can’t remember any relationships, but even I’m sure that sitting someone down and telling them you’re a werewolf isn’t exactly a mood setter.”

“If you’re going to make a go of this long term? You should tell him. You shouldn’t keep things like this from someone you want to be with.”

(Williams knows Stiles knows, of course. He just thinks this is a conversation that really needs to be had.)

Derek looks thoughtful. He picks absently at the seam of his jeans, where there’s a piece of thread coming loose. He pulls at it, and it snaps off. “Like I said. I don’t wanna ruin anything.”

Williams sighs. “Do you actually think he would leave you? If he found out?”

Derek’s shoulders sag in defeat. “No. I don’t.  I’ll tell him.”

Williams pats his arm. “Good man. And I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Derek snorts. “Well now I’m completely convinced.”

“You should listen to me more often. I’m very wise.”

“Is that just code for ‘old’?”

Williams laughs and smacks Derek’s arm. “Just because I have a few years on you doesn’t mean I can’t throw your wolfy ass in jail.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I watch TV you know. I know you can’t just arrest me for no reason.”

Williams shrugs. “Small town. No one would stop me.”

-

It’s a Sunday morning, and Stiles is reading some dumb celebrity magazine in bed, snorting occasionally at the blatantly false storylines. Derek is still asleep next to him, an arm flung over Stiles’ hips, and Stiles can’t help but reach out a hand to run it over his sleep-tousled hair.

They’d had moments like this before (okay, well not quite like this). They’d gotten drunk a few times, sat on Stiles’ living room floor or out in the woods by the old Hale house, loose-limbed and falling against each other. Stiles can remember, vaguely, running his hand through Derek’s hair then, too. It’s softer now than it was then.

He’s reading something silly about Brad Pitt ‘reconnecting’ with Jennifer Aniston, as if exes shouldn’t sometimes have amicable relationships, when Derek stiffens beside him. Stiles’ fingers pause just at the base of his hair, and he looks down, expecting to see Derek’s sleepy, blinking eyes. Instead, Derek’s eyes are screwed in consternation, deep creases forming on his brow. The hand that had been resting on the bed beside Stiles’ hip moves, and grabs onto him tightly.

Stiles winces at the force of the hold, and he rubs his fingers into Derek’s neck, trying to soothe him. Derek makes a low, pained sound, deep in his throat, and Stiles can see that he’s starting to wolf out. Before he has time to really register what that means, Derek’s claws are out and digging into his hip.

It’s sharp, and _hurts,_ and he lets out a cry as it happens. He tries to pull back from Derek, grabs at his fingers and tries to pull the claws from his skin.

“D-Styles,” he grits out, finally pulling the claws free. He shifts, glances down at the smear of red at his hip, and then turns to try to wake Derek up.

Derek’s claws are now tearing into the sheets, his face twisted in pain and his fangs dropped down. The bed’s almost vibrating with the strength of his distressed growl, and Stiles pushes at Derek’s shoulder.

“Styles,” he says, low and careful. “Styles, wake up.”

Derek’s eyes slam open, and for a moment he freezes, eyes locked on Stiles’. Then he’s moving, suddenly, crashing Stiles into the bed beneath him, arm pressed against his sternum, eyes blue and lips pulled back in an angry snarl.

Stiles cries out, struggles against Derek’s heavy weight pressing him down. It lasts only a moment, and Stiles knows he’s about to call Derek by his real name, but god damn, this _hurts._ And then suddenly Derek’s fangs have disappeared, his eyes have returned to their normal color, and he’s throwing himself back off the bed and into the corner of the room.

He curls in on himself, breathing heavily, but still watching Stiles with terrified, desperate eyes. Stiles scooches back against the headboard, gathers the blankets around himself, and wonders if Derek remembers, if he’s _Derek_ again.

But then Derek looks down at his own hands, at the blood now staining the white duvet where it’s pressed against his side. He speaks quietly when he’s apparently done staring at Stiles, and he says, “Alex. Alex, I’m-“ and then doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to staring at his knees.

After what feels like a decade, Stiles peels back the duvet and swings out of the bed. “Styles,” he says, stepping forward to Derek carefully. “Styles, it’s okay.”

Derek looks up as Stiles stands in front of him, and rises, slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching a hand out to brush against Stiles’ hip. It’s stopped bleeding, but still hurts, and Stiles winces, instinctively.

Stiles folds his fingers over Derek’s as they start to pull away. “Nightmare?”

Derek swallows. “I hurt you.” It’s not exactly an answer.

“You had some sharp nails there buddy.”

Derek makes a pained noise, and says, “I’ll get something.” He doesn’t say what, and leaves the room very quickly. Stiles figures he could use some thinking time.

He comes back with a wet towel and some sort of cream, and, silently, starts cleaning Stiles’ side. He spreads the antiseptic cream over the five cuts and says, again, “I’m really sorry.”

He’s still speaking quietly, and Stiles feels very bare, all of a sudden, despite the fact that they’re both wearing pyjama pants. He feels exposed.

Derek wipes his hands awkwardly against the flannel covering his thigh, and Stiles says, “What happened?”

Derek takes a breath before lifting his eyes to meet Stiles’. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

Stiles knows what’s coming, has been waiting for Derek to finally trust him enough to tell him outright that he’s a werewolf. He’d rather it hadn’t involved so much blood, but he gears himself, prepares his best ‘surprised’ face.

Derek stays quiet, though, so Stiles reaches forward and presses his hand to Derek’s cheek. “Tell me,” he says.

Derek sighs. “You’re not going to believe me.”

Stiles smiles. “After what I saw this morning? Try me.”

That earns a huff of amusement from Derek. He reaches up and pulls Stiles’ hand away, and drops it down between them, still holding on. “I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles lets his eyebrows rise high, lets his mouth fall open in an ‘O’ of surprise. He’s not a great liar, but he’s had to practise a lot, recently. He thinks he can pull this off.

Except, apparently not, because Stiles hasn’t even had the chance to make any kind of reply before Derek’s eyebrows are furrowing in confusion. He drops Stiles’ hand, and says, “Did you know?”

He doesn’t look betrayed or anything, just confused, so that’s something. Stiles briefly considers trying to keep up the lie, but Derek’s watching him with those lovely dumb eyes. So instead, he sighs. “I sorta guessed. Scott got bitten when we were sixteen. I wasn’t sure, though.”

Derek’s silent for a moment, and then he huffs out a laugh. It sounds bitter, but then he says, “I was so scared about what you’d think. I thought you might leave.”

Stiles’ heart clenches, because that’s so typical Derek. Always convinced everyone’s already got one foot out of the door. He picks up Derek’s hand again. “For the record, even if Scott wasn’t a werewolf? I wouldn’t care. I kinda like you, you know.”

Derek smiles, and then doesn’t. “I hurt you.”

Stiles looks down. The cuts are deep, but he’ll barely notice them in a few days. Lord knows he’s seen worse. “It’s unfortunate,” he shrugs. “But it’s okay. You should have seen some of Scott’s first full moons.” Derek lets out a laugh at that, and Stiles continues. “What was the nightmare about?”

Derek shrugs. “I honestly can’t remember. I think there was maybe electricity? But I forgot pretty quickly.”

Stiles swallows and nods, and hopes desperately that Derek isn’t going to somehow only remember Kate. He steps forward, wraps his hands around Derek’s neck and presses their chests together. “It’s okay,” he says, and then, “I love you, by the way.” It’s his first proper time saying it, and nothing about it feels wrong.

Derek pulls Stiles in closer, obviously trying not to jostle his hip. He replies with a kiss.

-

 

Derek clears his throat. “I told him. Sorta.”

Williams’ eyebrows rise as he replies, “What does ‘sorta’ mean? Did you go for like vampire or something?”

Derek snorts. “No. _Obviously.”_ He pushes the plate of fries they’re sharing at Williams’ desk back across, pulling a few off as he does. “I told him. But I was kind of forced into it.”

Williams only raises one eyebrow this time. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, mid chew. “I had a nightmare, and woke up pinning him to the bed, fangs out and everything, and having just practically clawed his hip open.”

“Woah, jeez. Is he all right?”

Derek nods. “Yeah. And so I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“He was more than fine with it. Apparently Scott is a werewolf, and he’d pretty much already guessed.”

Williams smiles. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “More of that old man wisdom, eh?”

“Watch that attitude, young man.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, but then his face falls, and he looks down at his hands. “I hurt him.”

“But you didn’t mean to. And did you apologize?”

Derek makes a face. “Of course I did.”

“And he accepted it?”

Derek nods.

“Then don’t worry about it too much.”

Williams can tell Derek’s not 100% percent, but he’s never been very good with giving himself breaks. “Hey, what was the nightmare about?”

Derek’s brow furrows as he tries to remember, before settling on, “You know, I really can’t remember.”

-

“School starts back in two weeks kid. You gonna be back and ready?”

Stiles swears and looks at his watch, before remembering that his watch doesn’t have the date on it, and holy shit, where did the time go?

He runs his hand across his face. “Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You should really give yourself the whole weekend to readjust and get your stuff together.”

“I get it, Dad, really.”

His dad sighs. “I’m not sure you do. You’re in pretty deep over there.”

“We’re working it out. Honestly.”

“Long term? Is he ever going to come back to Beacon Hills? You going to marry him pretending to be someone else?”

Stiles sighs and sinks down to the bed. He wants to tell his dad that it’s going to be okay, that they’ve got this plan and it’s all going to work out. But he can’t say that, because it’s not true. He hasn’t figured out anything beyond that he really likes Derek and wants to spend as much time with him as possible.

Long term? Yeah, it can’t work like this.

He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “You’re saying I have to break up with him.”

“ _No,”_ the answer comes back, firm and sure. “I’m saying you should tell him the truth.”

Stiles sighs. “Sure, and then he hates me and breaks up with me and it ruins everything, and messes him up emotionally and destroys all the trust he has not just in me, but in everyone here.”

“I told you from the start to tell him the truth. You got yourself into this.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“A little. It’s not unsalvageable. Now’s your chance to do the right thing.”

Stiles thinks about a long-distance relationship, thinks about living a lie with someone as important to him as Derek, thinks about the betrayal Derek would feel if he discovered the truth. Thinks about Derek’s nightmares, more frequent and more frightening. Derek hadn’t had nightmares since before Stiles arrived. Maybe this is down to Stiles.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “I will.”

“Good man,” his dad says.

Stiles tries very hard to believe it.

-

Over the next few days, the nightmares get even worse. Derek wakes up screaming or crying or with his claws dangerously close to Stiles’ skin, and they get more vivid. At 3am, he presses his face into Stiles’ shoulder and whispers, “I kill people. I dream about killing people,” and Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair and rubs up and down his back and realises that it’s his fault Derek is hurting like this.

When Derek wakes up shaking, bleary eyed and clinging to Stiles like his life depends on it, Stiles decides to leave. He needs to go back to Beacon Hills, to let Derek move on and start the life here that Stiles had wanted for him from the start. Stiles is being selfish if he think he can make him and Derek work,

-

He changes his number before he leaves town, which is a pain, but he can’t risk Derek tracking him down. He needs a clean break, away from Stiles and all the memories his presence apparently brings back.

(He would have hoped that maybe Derek would remember some of their better memories; the last few years they’d been best friends, pack barbecues in the summer, watching football games with his dad at Thanksgiving, that one fishing trip that had ended with the boat tipping over and all their beers sinking to the bottom of the lake. You can’t win ‘em all.)

He packs up his things while Derek is at work, because he has a feeling that Derek would wake up if he left in the night. And it breaks his heart that he can’t say a proper goodbye, but he knows this is for the best.

He leaves a note on the kitchen counter, a short _It’s better this way, I promise. Please don’t look for me. You deserve so much more._

It’s not even close to how much Stiles wants to say, but he hasn’t got all of the time in the world, and he feels like even if he did, he couldn’t properly put into words how he feels. And he knows Derek probably won’t forgive him, but really, that’s a good thing. Derek needs to forget him and move on, to never know that Stiles lied to him for so long, to be able to let go of the nightmares that Stiles has brought back.

And he _hates_ that he’s going to be just another bad relationship for Derek, that he caused all this without realising how bad the situation actually was.

He’s made mistakes this summer. But Derek is alive and safe and eventually, he’ll be okay.

-

Wills is packing up his things ready to go home and prepare for his date with Rachel when he gets the call from Derek.

“’Lo,” he says, cradling the phone against his cheek with his shoulder.

“He’s gone, Alex is gone,” is all that Derek says, his frantic voice making Williams flinch.

“Slow down, Styles. What are you talking about?”

“Alex left while I was at work. All his stuff is gone, he left a note, his phone’s been disconnected or something, he’s _gone_.”

Williams’ mind goes to about a hundred different places all at once. “What does the note say?”

“’It’s better this way, I promise. Please don’t look for me. You deserve so much more.’ I don’t understand, what does that even mean?”

Williams shakes his head, realises Derek can’t see him, and says, “I don’t know, Styles. Did he say anything to you about this? Did he mention leaving?”

“He was going back home in a week or two to go back to work. But we were going to try long-distance. Not, not-this. He, he _changed his number,_ Wills. Why would he do that?”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming over, sit tight. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Williams hangs up, and tries desperately to remember where Stiles said he was from.

-

Stiles calls his dad from his apartment in Beacon Hills, opens with a “Hey, I’m back in town now.”

He can almost hear his dad’s confusion before he speaks. “Oh? Okay? Did you tell Derek everything then?”

Stiles sighs. “No. Not as such.”

“Stiles,” his dad warns. “So you’re just carrying on with the long-distance lie?”

“No, Dad. I left. It would have hurt him too much to find out the truth, I’m sure of it. And it wasn’t right for me to keep lying to him either.”

“Wait, so you just left? Did you even say goodbye?” His dad’s voice is loud and incredulous and Stiles winces.

“He wouldn’t have just let me leave! He would want to stay friends, to keep in contact, to see me home, or something! It would have been the same problem! And he was having these nightmares, like about his life before everything, and they were just getting worse. And I just know that it’s because I was there. He needed a clean break. He’s got a new life there, and he needs to live it without me.”

“Oh, hell. Kid, that’s not what I meant and you know it. Losing him really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

“Dad-“ Stiles starts, but then he’s being cut off.

“It won’t have helped, you just leaving. That’ll have messed him up some too. God, what is it with you kids and communication? Why can’t you just talk to each other?”

“It might upset him, sure. But it’s for the best in the long run. This is better than any alternative.”

His dad sighs. “I don’t know, Stiles. I really don’t.” He’s quiet for a second, and Stiles prepares for another chiding. Instead, his dad says, “You wanna come round tonight for dinner?”

Stiles looks at his watch. It’s already gone six, but he hasn’t eaten yet. “Sure.”

-

Derek looks like a wreck when Williams makes it over to his place, having called Rachel to cancel and explain just before he’d left. Williams follows him into his apartment, and Derek thrusts Stiles’ note at him. “This is all that’s left,” he says, and Williams takes it and glances over it.

There’s nothing to suggest it was written under duress, no signs of a struggle in the apartment. By all accounts, Stiles chose to leave. Derek’s then pressing his phone against his ear, and Williams ignores his instinct to flinch away and listens to the tone indicating that the number’s been disconnected.

“See?” Derek asks, eyes wide. “He’s just gone.”

Williams puts a hand on his arm and guides him to the couch. “Are you sure there were no hints he might leave? Nothing he said that now you think about it, seems strange?”

Derek shakes his head. “No. I’ve racked my brain, I can’t think of _anything._ ”

Williams sighs. He feels like his occupation means he has to come up with something, some magical way for him to bring Stiles back, but he can’t just promise Derek that.

“You know his dad, right? Maybe you could ask him about it?”

And oh, yeah, that Sheriff Stilinski that lives somewhere nearby. Even if he can’t remember the exact town, the name is enough to get him contact.

But then. Stiles left for a reason. He obviously doesn’t want to be found. “I’ll ask around, see what I can find. But I can’t promise anything. If he doesn’t want to be found, there’s nothing I can do.”

Derek nods, looking at him with such hope that Williams’ heart crumbles. He cups a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “He loved you. Whatever all this is about? I know he loved you.”

-

It takes Williams a surprisingly long time to get Sheriff Stilinski’s number. He calls him as soon as he gets the chance, a few days after Stiles first leaves, and after explaining who he is, hears Stilinski sigh.

“Knew that kid was an idiot not to think anyone’d come looking. How’s Derek doing?”

“He’s miserable. Wondering what he did wrong, second guessing everything he said or did. Half the time cursing himself for not asking more about Stiles, and half cursing Stiles for not telling him.”

Stilinski sighs. “I told Stiles so many times to tell him the truth. I knew this would end badly.” He huffs. “Have Derek’s nightmares gone away, at least?”

Williams crinkles his brow in confusion. “No? Was that why Stiles left?”

“One of the reasons, apparently.”

“Well,” Williams continues, “they’ve gotten worse, actually. Derek sees and remembers more and more each time. I’m guessing they’re memories, these nightmares?”

“Stiles thought so.”

“If that’s the case, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to call him an amnesiac for.”

“Does he remember Stiles? From before? Or his real name?”

Williams drums his fingers against the desk. “No, and I’m torn between telling him the truth and hoping it doesn’t derail anything, or just letting him figure things out for himself.”

“Do you think it might help? Telling him?”

“It depends, I guess. On whether I think he should be with Stiles or not.”

Stilinski clears his throat. “And what do you think?”

Williams sighs. “Before, I would have said yes. But this was pretty cruel, just leaving like that.”

“Trust me, neither of us are proud of it.” They’re both silent for a moment, before Stilinski says, “For what it’s worth, I think you should tell him. Not for Stiles. But for Derek. So he can have his life back. It may not have been perfect, and sure, he’s had pain. But he had a good thing here in Beacon Hills.”

Williams smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine.”

-

Williams lets himself into Derek’s apartment and finds him sat on the edge of his bad, looking placidly at his own hands. He smiles up at Wills as he approaches. “Hey.”

Williams sits down beside him, and says, “I spoke to Alex’s dad today.”

“Stiles,” is Derek’s reply, and now Williams is confused.

“Sorry, Styles? What was that?”

“You spoke to Stiles’ dad,” he says, and Williams’ breath catches in his throat. “I remembered,” Derek continues. “Also remembered my real name.” He coughs. “Wasn’t sure if you knew the truth, when I first remembered. But if you’ve spoken to his dad. Well, you had to know.” He’s still not making eye contact, and Williams is preparing all his best apologies at once. “Why did you lie?” Derek asks, eventually, his voice quieter than Williams was expecting.

He swallows. “We ran your prints after we found you, saw your history, no next of kin, you know? And no one came after you for so long. And we wanted to thank you, I suppose, for what you did. We owed you, as a town.” He pauses. “Stiles didn’t tell you because he thought you were happier here. Was planning to leave pretty quickly, after he checked on you, but couldn’t force himself to say goodbye for good, I guess.”

Derek nods in understanding. “That sounds like him.”

Williams’ heart drops, because, well. Derek still loves Stiles.

“You going after him? Going home?”

Derek nods. “I’ll come back and visit,” he says,

Williams smiles. “You’re always welcome here. Don’t be a stranger.”

-

Stiles tries desperately not to be miserable. He made his decision, and he knows he should live with the consequences of it. And it hurts, but he’ll be okay. Derek’s alive and well and happy in a town that appreciates him, and as much as it pains him that they’re not going to be what they were, it’s for the best.

That’s what Stiles tells himself, at least. When he wakes up scared and sweaty, reaching out instinctively for someone who isn’t there, that’s what he tells himself. And when he flicks through old photographs of Derek he has on his phone, wondering wistfully if Derek will ever find anyone else, that’s what he tells himself.

He goes over to Derek’s place a few days after he gets back, and wonders if maybe he should do something with it, if Derek would even want him to. He can’t get rid of any of his stuff, but he could put it into storage, maybe.

He wanders into the bedroom, looks at the unmade bed that hasn’t been made for over a year. There’s a picture of the Hale family on the nightstand, from some reunion that happened when Derek was very small, and the wall has frames with various pack photos in. One of Erica and Boyd, a couple of Isaac, two group photographs. There are four of just Stiles and Derek, and Stiles looks at them carefully. There’s one from Scott and Kira’s New Year’s party, and Stiles is so obviously drunk, leaning into Derek’s side and grinning up at the camera from underneath novelty glasses. Derek’s not looking at the camera, though, he’s looking at the side of Stiles’ very flushed face, just a small smile on his lips.

The next is one of the only selfies Stiles thinks Derek’s ever taken, from their trip to the beach last summer. They’re lying on a pink towel, sunglasses on and noses burning (god, who knew werewolves could get sunburn?) and pressed into each other’s side, both grinning almost manically at the camera. Derek’s face is turned slightly towards Stiles, though. He hadn’t noticed that before.

There’s one from their failed fishing trip, one that Stiles’ dad took when he had to drive up to collect them (turns out the car keys had been in that capsized boat as well). They’re both sopping wet, sheepish and apologetic, even though Stiles knows his dad had been laughing. Stiles is stood slightly in front of Derek, shrugging slightly. Derek is looking at some point on Stiles’ shoulder.

The fourth one is Stiles’ favorite, had been his wallpaper for a couple of months. It’s from his college graduation party, when he got excessively drunk at his dad’s house and threw up several times. He’s still got his gown and cap on, is no doubt being _insufferable,_ but at some point, Derek scooped him into his arms and held him bridal style, long enough for Stiles to drunkenly pose and for some unknown entity to take a picture that had quickly made its way to everyone’s Facebook. Derek had pretended to be annoyed about it, at first. But not for very long. Derek’s laughing fondly, in the photo, his fingers curved delicately around Stiles’ side and knees.

And he thinks, looking at these photos, that maybe Derek’s been in love with him all along.

-

Stiles goes home and starts packing some bags. He’s still got six days until he needs to be in school before the new year starts, and he’s got the feeling that he’s been really, very stupid. The call to his dad goes through to voicemail, and he’s just stammering out a brief, “I made a mistake, I’m going back, I’m going to tell him the truth-“ when there’s a knock at his door that makes him drop his phone on the bed. He curses, picks it up and hangs up the call, strides over to the front door, and throws it open.

He’s not sure who he’s expecting. Maybe his dad, maybe Scott, maybe Melissa. Sometimes Mrs Greenway from two doors down brings him pies. He’s definitely not expecting Derek.

Derek, Derek who’s standing in front of him in the doorway to his apartment in Beacon Hills, Derek who’s supposed to not know who he is, Derek who has his beard the same way he had it before he lost his memory. Derek who’s watching him, expectantly, his expression giving away nothing.

Stiles drops his mouth open, then closes it again, then drops it open again. There’s another moment’s silence, and Stiles snaps his mouth shut again.

And then Derek _smirks,_ and Stiles’ stomach drops through the floor. “I think this is the quietest you’ve ever been,” is what Derek says, after a beat.

Stiles lets out a laugh that’s so harsh, so unbelieving. It comes out more as a sob.

Derek stops smirking, then. He drops his gaze to the floor, lets his eyes close briefly. “I think we should probably talk, don’t you, Stiles?”

Stiles does sob then, and leaps forward to Derek and throws his arms around his neck and burying his face into Derek’s shoulder, because that’s the first time Derek’s called him ‘Stiles’ in over a year. Derek’s arms snake around Stiles’ waist and pull him in tighter, and they both hold on.

-

“I’m mad that you left, more than anything,” Derek says from where he’s sat across from Stiles on the living room floor. He picks up a few noodles with his chopstick and pushes them into his mouth.

Stiles nods, fork twirling in the orange chicken he’s got sitting on his plate. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was for the best. All of it, as well. From the start.”

Derek swallows. “Why, though?”

“You had it so great there. Everyone loved you. And you didn’t have any of this shit-“ he gestures vaguely around him, “to deal with. None of the shitty past. You got a clean break. I felt like you deserved to keep it.”

Derek sighs. “I was sad, a lot, that no one had come to look for me. I pictured so many different lives I could have lived, each worse than the next. This ‘shit’ is better than all of them.”

Stiles nods. “I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes and I’m sorry. It’s just, you’ve always deserved so much more than you ever seem to get. And I took your choice from you and lied to you, and I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay. Everyone told me my memory wasn’t going to come back. And I was happy there, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Derek shifts. “Something always felt missing. I always thought it was the memories that I’d lost, but it wasn’t.”

Stiles waits for Derek to carry on, but instead of talking, he stabs a piece of beef with the end of his chopstick and shoves it in his mouth.

“What was it?” Stiles asks, eventually. Quietly.

“There was always a small part of me missing. But after I met you? It didn’t feel so important anymore.”

Stiles thinks he might be blushing, but he really doesn’t care. He wants to ask more, wants to know if Derek really feels anything for him, but instead, he says, “What made you remember?”

Derek shrugs. “Not sure. The nightmares were the start. They got worse after you left, and then better but clearer. One morning I woke up and everything was just there.”

Stiles looks down at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d ever remember. You didn’t know me at all, not even a little. And it had been so long, and Wills never said anything about you someday remembering. I thought you’d never remember, and that if I told you the truth, you’d just have to suffer through everything all over again. I thought you’d be happier there, not knowing all the shitty stuff that had happened to you, and I know that-“

“Stiles,” Derek says, making Stiles look up. “It’s okay.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s not. That wasn’t my call, it wasn’t my decision to make. I made it without thinking that you might ever remember, and then I went and slept with you, and _god,_ how fucked up am I that I did that?”

“You didn’t take advantage of me, if you’re worried about that. I remember very clearly how much I wanted it.” He drags a chopstick through the sauce on the plate absent-mindedly. “It’s weird, but when have our lives been anything but a bit fucked up?”

Stiles sighs. “These last few years have been pretty quiet.”

Derek smiles. “Yeah. They have.”

“Were you mad? About, us? When you remembered?”

Derek shakes his head almost immediately, his gaze focusing on Stiles’ sternum. “No.” He sighs. “I was disappointed, I guess. That all those firsts we had weren’t really with me.”

Stiles’ breath catches, and he reaches out a hand to Derek’s; he intertwines their fingers, and then Derek raises his eyes to meet Stiles’.

Stiles smiles tentatively. “How about some new firsts?”

Derek smiles.

-

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> when uni ceases to be consistently manic and my dissertation's done, I'd quite like to do a sequel. until then, come find me at [slowunsteady](http://slowunsteady.tumblr.com), and don't forget to check out the original work! It's so much better I promise


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